Pole     Baker 


a  Hovel 


By 

Will    N.    Harben 

Author  of 

"  Abner  Daniel  "  "  The  Georgians  " 
"The  Substitute"  etc. 


New  York  and   London 

Harper   &  Brothers   Publishers 
1905 


Copyright,  1905,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  August,  1905. 


TO 

MY     SON 
ERIC 


2136117 


POLE    BAKER 


POLE    BAKER 


[HE  planter  alighted  from  the  dusty 
little  train  under  the  crumbling  brick 
t  car-shed  at  Barley,  and,  turning  his 
heavy  hand-luggage  over  to  the  negro 
porter,  he  walked  across  the  grass  to 
the  steps  of  the  Johnston  House.  Here  he  was  met 
by  Jim  Thornton,  the  dapper  young  clerk,  who 
always  had  a  curled  mustache  and  oiled  hair 
smoothed  flatly  down  over  his  brow. 

"Oh,  here  you  are,  right  side  up,  Captain  Dun 
can!"  he  cried,  cordially.  "You  can't  stay  away 
from  those  level  acres  of  yours  very  long  at  a  time." 
"No,  Jim,"  the  short,  thick-set  man  smiled,  as  he 
took  the  extended  hand;  "as  soon  as  I  heard  spring 
had  opened,  I  got  a  bad  case  of  homesickness,  and 
we  left  Florida.  My  wife  and  daughter  came  a  week 
ago.  I  had  to  stop  on  business  in  Jacksonville.  I 
always  like  to  be  here  in  planting  season ;  my  men 
never  seem  to  know  exactly  what  I  want  done 
when  I  am  away.  Jim,  I've  got  a  lot  of  fine  land 
out  there  between  the  river  and  the  mountains." 
"I  reckon  you  have,"  laughed  the  clerk,  as  he 

i 


Pole    Baker 

led  his  guest  into  the  hotel  office.  "There's  a 
neighbor  of  yours  over  there  at  the  stove,  old  Tom 
May  hew,  who  runs  the  big  store — May  hew  &  Floyd's 
— at  Springtown." 

"Oh,  I  know  him  mighty  well,"  said  Duncan. 
"How  are  you,  Mayhew?  What  are  you  doing 
away  from  your  beat  ?  I  thought  you'd  be  behind 
that  counter  such  fine  weather  as  this." 

"Trade's  dull,"  said  the  merchant,  who  was  a 
tall,  spare-made  man,  about  sixty-five  years  of  age, 
with  snow-white  hair  and  beard.  "  Farmers  are  all 
at  the  plough,  and  that's  where  they  ought  to  be, 
Duncan,  if  they  expect  to  pay  anything  on  their 
debts  this  fall.  I  had  to  lay  in  some  stock,  and  ran 
down  to  Atlanta  day  before  yesterday.  My  young 
partner,  Nelson  Floyd,  usually  does  the  replenish 
ing,  but  the  books  got  out  of  whack  and  I  left  him 
to  tussle  with  them;  he's  got  a  better  head  for  fig 
ures  than  I  have.  I've  just  sent  to  the  livery-stable 
for  a  horse  and  buggy  to  take  me  out ;  how  are  you 
going?" 

"Why,  I  hardly  know,"  answered  the  planter,  as 
he  took  off  his  straw  hat  and  wiped  his  bald  head 
with  a  silk  handkerchief.  "  I  telegraphed  Lawson, 
my  head  overseer,  to  send  somebody  to  meet  me, 
and  I  was  just  wondering — " 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  attended  to  all  right,  Captain  Dun 
can,"  said  the  clerk,  with  a  laugh,  as  he  stood  at 
the  register  behind  the  counter.  "  Pole  Baker  was 
in  here  last  night  asking  if  you  had  arrived.  He 
said  he  had  brought  a  buggy  and  was  going  to 
drive  you  back.  You  will  make  it  all  right  if  Pole 
sobers  up  long  enough  to  get  out  of  town,  He  was 


Pole    Baker 

thoroughly  '  how-come-you-so  '  last  night.  He  was 
in  Asque's  bar  raising  holy  Cane.  The  marshal 
ordered  Billy  to  close  at  twelve,  but  Pole  wouldn't 
hear  to  it,  and  they  came  in  an  inch  of  having 
a  fight.  I  believe  they  would  if  Mrs.  Johnston 
hadn't  heard  it  and  come  down.  Pole  has  more  re 
spect  for  women  than  most  men,  and  as  soon  as 
he  saw  her  at  the  door  he  hushed  up  and  went  to 
bed." 

"He's  as  straight  as  a  shingle  this  morning, 
captain,"  put  in  Charlie  Smith,  a  mulatto  porter, 
who  was  rolling  a  pair  of  trucks  across  the  room 
laden  with  a  drummer's  enormous,  brass-bound 
trunk.  "He  was  up  before  day  asking  if  you  got 
in  durin'  the  night." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  he's  sobered  up  if  he's  to  take  me 
out,"  said  the  planter.  "He's  about  the  biggest 
dare-devil  out  our  way.  You  know  him,  don't  you, 
May  hew?" 

"  Know  him  ?  Humph!  to  the  extent  of  over  three 
hundred  dollars.  My  partner  thinks  the  sun  rises 
and  sets  in  him  and  never  will  close  down  on  him. 
They  are  great  friends.  Floyd  will  fight  for  him  at 
the  drop  of  a  hat.  He  says  Pole  has  more  manhood 
in  him  to  the  square  inch  than  any  man  in  the 
county,  white  or  black.  He  saw  him  in  a  knock- 
down-and-drag-out  row  in  the  public  square  last 
election.  They  say  Pole  whipped  three  bigger  men 
than  he  is  all  in  a  bunch,  and  bare-handed  at  that. 
Nobody  knows  to  this  day  how  it  started.  Nelson 
doesn't,  but  I  heard  it  was  some  remark  one  of  the 
fellows  made  about  Nelson  himself.  You  know  my 
partner  had  a  rather  strange  start  in  life — a  poor 

3 


Pole    Baker 

boy  with  nobody  to  see  to  his  bringing -up,  but 
that's  a  subject  that  even  his  best  friends  don't 
mention  to  him." 

The  captain  nodded  understandingly.  "They 
tell  me  Pole  used  to  be  a  moonshiner,"  he  said; 
"  and  I  have  heard  that  he  was  the  shrewdest  one  in 
the  mountains.  His  wife  got  him  to  quit  it.  I 
understand  he  fairly  worships  the  ground  she  walks 
on,  and  there  never  was  a  better  father  to  his 
children. ' ' 

"He  thinks  well  enough  of  them  when  he's  at 
himself,"  said  Mayhew,  "but  when  he's  drinking 
he  neglects  them  awfully.  I've  known  the  neigh 
bors  to  feed  them  two  weeks  on  a  stretch.  He's  got 
a  few  enemies  out  our  way.  When  he  quit  moon- 
shining,  he  helped  some  of  the  government  officers 
find  some  stills  over  there.  That  was  funny!  Pole 
held  off  from  the  job  that  was  offered  him  for  a 
month,  during  which  time  he  sent  word  everywhere 
through  the  mountains  that  he  would  give  all  his  old 
friends  plenty  of  time  to  shut  up  and  quit  making 
whiskey,  but  after  his  month  was  up  he  would  do 
all  he  could  against  any  law-breakers.  He  had  to 
testify  against  several  who  are  now  at  large,  and 
they  certainly  have  it  in  for  him.  He'd  have  been 
shot  long  ago  if  his  enemies  wasn't  afraid  of  him. 
But  they  will  do  him  one  of  these  days;  you  may 
mark  my  prediction.  He  is  as  cool  and  collected  in 
time  of  danger  as  General  Lee  used  to  be.  By 
gum,  I  saw  him  actually  save  the  lives  of  twenty  of 
the  best  citizens  of  this  town  about  a  year  ago." 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  exclaimed  the  planter. 

"That's  what  he  did,  captain,"  Jim  Thornton 

4 


Pole    Baker 

cried  out  from  behind  the  counter.  "  You  bet  your 
life  that  was  a  ticklish  time.  I  wasn't  here,  but  I 
heard  of  it." 

"No,  you  wasn't  on  duty  then,"  said  May  hew. 
"  I  remember  that,  because  Mrs.  Johnston  had  to 
attend  to  the  office  herself.  It  happened,  captain, 
that  a  squad  of  negro  soldiers,  commanded  by  a 
white  officer,  owing  to  some  wash-out  on  the  road 
this  side  of  Chattanooga,  had  to  lay  over  here  all 
day,  and  they  got  about  half  drunk  and  started  in 
to  paint  the  town.  They  marched  up  and  down 
Main  Street,  two  abreast,  looking  in  the  stores  and 
making  fun  of  everybody  and  everything  they  saw. 
Finally  hell  got  in  them  as  big  as  house  afire,  and  they 
come  right  in  here,  forty  strong.  The  leader,  a  tall, 
black  buck,  over  six  feet  high  and  weighing  about 
two  hundred,  went  up  to  Mrs.  Johnston  at  the 
counter  and  said  they  wanted  dinner.  The  old 
lady,  feeble  and  gray-headed  as  she  is,  isn't  a  child. 
She  knew  exactly  what  it  meant,  and  she  was  as 
white  as  a  sheet,  but  she  told  the  rascal  quietly  that 
her  house  did  not  entertain  colored  people. 

"'That's  what  I've  heard,'  the  negro  said,  'but 
we  are  going  to  eat  here  to-day  or  know  the  reason 
why.'" 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Duncan,  "he  ought 
to  have  been  shot." 

"Well,"  went  on  Mayhew,  "while  she  was  trying 
to  put  him  off,  somebody  ran  for  the  white  officer 
and  told  him  to  go  order  his  men  out,  and  he  did 
start  in  this  direction,  but  it  was  with  a  sneer  and 
several  questions  about  why  his  men  couldn't  eat  in 
any  hotel  in  America,  and  so  forth,  and  when  he 

5 


Pole    Baker 

got  here  in  the  office  he  just  stood  around  and  took 
no  steps  to  stop  the  trouble  at  all.  He  sidled  over 
to  the  cigar-case  and  stood  there  twisting  his  yellow 
mustache  and  turning  his  nose  up,  but  he  wouldn't 
give  the  command,  and  that  made  the  negroes  more 
unruly.  Mrs.  Johnston  appealed  to  him,  telling  him 
it  was  his  duty  to  clear  her  house  of  his  drunken 
men,  but  he  simply  gave  her  no  satisfaction.  How 
ever,  you  can  bet  trouble  was  brewing.  The  news 
had  spread  like  wildfire  down  the  street,  and  every 
merchant  and  clerk  that  was  any  man  at  all  shoved 
a  pistol  in  his  pocket  and  quietly  slid  into  this  room. 
They  didn't  seem  to  have  any  business  here,  and  it 
was  plain  that  the  captain,  who  was  a  Northern  man, 
had  no  idea  he  was  so  near  an  ambush;  but  a  bat 
tle  hung  by  a  single  hair.  Both  factions  was  armed, 
and  one  shot  would  have  produced  a  hundred.  The 
white  citizens  all  had  their  lips  set  tight  together,  and 
not  one  had  a  thing  to  say  to  any  other.  They 
were  all  here  for  simple  business,  and  each  man  was 
going  to  act  on  his  own  responsibility.  The  dining- 
room  was  open,  and  one  or  two  drummers  had  gone 
in  to  dinner,  and  every  white  man's  eye  was  on  the 
door.  They  seemed  to  have  made  up  their  minds, 
one  and  all,  that  the  first  negro  that  made  a  break 
in  that  direction  would  never  cross  the  threshold. 
I've  been  in  war  and  carnage,  but,  by  gum!  that 
was  the  most  ticklish  situation  I  ever  faced. 

"Just  about  that  time  I  saw  Pole  Baker  run  in, 
panting  and  out  of  breath.  He  had  been  doing  a  job 
of  whitewashing  down  at  the  wagon-yard  and  had 
on  a  pair  of  somebody's  old  overalls  that  wouldn't 
meet  at  the  waist  and  struck  him  about  the  knees, 

6 


Pole    Baker 

He'd  lost  his  hat  in  his  hurry,  and  his  long,  bushy 
hair  was  all  tangled.  'Have  you  got  a  spare  gun?' 
he  asked  me,  his  lip  shaking,  his  eyes  bulging  out. 
I  told  him  I  didn't  have  anything  but  a  pocket- 
knife  and  might  need  that,  and  he  plunged  into 
the  bar-room  and  tried  to  borrow  a  pistol  from 
Billy  Asque,  but  Billy  was.  on  the  way  out  with  his 
in  his  hip-pocket,  and  Pole  come  back  frothing  at  the 
mouth  and  begun  to  look  under  that  stove  there. 

" '  What  you  looking  for  ?'  said  I.  And  he  belched 
up  an  oath  and  said:  '  Damn  it,  what  you  think  I'm 
looking  for — a  feather  bed?  I'm  looking  for  some 
thing  to  hit  that  black  whelp  with  that's  leaning 
over  the  register  threatening  that  poor  old  lady.' 

"  But  he  couldn't  lay  his  hand  on  a  thing,  and  it 
looked  like  he  was  about  to  cry.  Then  things  got 
more  serious.  The  negroes  had  bunched  together, 
and  we  saw  plainly  that  their  plan  was  to  make  a 
break  in  a  body  for  the  dining-room.  I  saw  Pole 
throw  his  big  head  back  like  our  general  used  to  do 
when  things  had  reached  a  crisis. 

"If  something  isn't  done,  and  done  quick,'  I 
heard  him  say  to  himself,  '  some  of  the  best  citizens 
of  this  town  will  lose  their  lives,  and  all  for  a  gang  of 
drunken  niggers.  Something's  got  to  be  done,  Mr. 
May  hew,'  he  said  to  me. 

"'Yes,  but  what? — that's  the  question,'  said  I. 

"Then  I  saw  him  act.  Without  a  single  weapon 
in  his  hand,  he  stalked  as  straight  as  an  arrow 
through  the  gang  of  negroes,  elbowing  them  right 
and  left,  and  went  up  to  the  captain  and  clamped  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder  so  heavy  that  I  heard  it  clear 
across  the  room. 

7 


Pole    Baker 

" '  Looky'  here,  you  damned  white  coward !'  he  said, 
'  you  order  them  coons  out  of  here  in  five  seconds  or, 
by  God,  I'll  knock  every  tooth  in  your  head  down 
your  throat,  and  wedge  'em  in  with  your  gums. 
Quick,  order,  I  say!' 

"  The  chap  was  about  Pole's  height,  but  he  looked 
like  a  sapling  beside  a  knotted  oak,  and  he  stared 
through  his  cigar  smoke  in  astonishment.  But 
Pole's  left  hand  came  down  with  a  ringing  slap  on 
his  shoulder-straps  that  almost  brought  the  fellow 
to  his  knees,  and  Pole's  big  fist  slid  up  close  to  his 
eyes,  and  then  drew  back  for  a  sledge-hammer  lick. 
The  fellow  blinked,  and  then  with  a  growl  and  a 
sickly  look  about  the  mouth  he  gave  the  order. 
The  negroes  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  but 
Pole  waved  his  big  right  hand  and  said,  'Get  out! 
get  out  of  here,  and  that  mighty  quick!'  They 
moved  slow,  to  be  sure,  but  they  went,  the  officer 
standing  to  one  side  looking  plumb  whipped.  They 
had  all  gone  down  the  steps,  and  the  captain,  mad 
and  sullen,  was  about  to  follow,  when  suddenly 
Pole  reached  out  and  caught  him  by  the  collar  and 
yanked  him  right  back  into  the  crowd  that  was 
surging  forward. 

" '  Say,  you've  got  to  listen  to  a  speech,'  Pole  said, 
still  holding  to  his  coat.  '  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
for  a  soldier  you  are  the  damnedest  jackass  that 
ever  stood  on  its  hind-legs  in  blue  pants.  You  are  a 
pretty  excuse  to  send  out  even  in  charge  of  a  set  of 
ignorant  coons.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me  calling  a 
halt  on  this  thing  you'd  'a'  had  to  haul  your  com 
pany  to  headquarters  in  a  refrigerator-car,  and 
you'd  'a'  had  that  uniform  changed  to  one  of  tar 

8 


Pole    Baker 

and  feathers.  Now,  you  go  on,  and  when  you 
strike  another  mountain  town  you  will  know  what 
you  are  up  against,'  and  with  that  Pole  led  the  chap, 
who  was  pretty  well  scared  by  that  time,  to  the 
steps  and  gave  him  a  shove  towards  the  train.  Pole 
saved  the  day,  and  when  that  crowd  of  Darley  men 
realized  what  a  riot  had  been  averted  they  gathered 
around  him  and  began  to  praise  him  extravagantly. 
Billy  Askew  ran  into  his  bar  and  came  out  with  his 
old  dog-eared  ledger  open  at  Pole's  account,  and  he 
held  it  up  and  tore  the  page  out.  'No  man,'  said 
he,  'can  owe  me  for  whiskey  that's  got  that  sort  of 
a  body  to  put  it  in,  and  Pole  Baker  from  this  day 
on  is  at  liberty  to  stick  his  mouth  to  every  bung- 
hole  in  my  shop.' 

"And  that  night  Pole  was  so  drunk  that  the 
marshal  started  to  lock  him  up,  but  the  gang  stood 
to  him.  They  put  him  to  bed  up-stairs  in  the 
bridal-chamber,  and  sat  around  him  till  morning, 
singing  battle-songs  and  raising  the  devil  gener 
ally." 

"I  see  him  coming  now,  Mr.  Mayhew,"  said  the 
clerk.  "  Captain,  he  walks  steady  enough.  I  reckon 
he'll  take  you  through  safe." 

The  tall  countryman,  about  thirty-five  years  of  age, 
without  a  coat,  his  coarse  cotton  shirt  open  at  the 
neck,  a  slouched  hat  on  his  massive  head  and  his 
tattered  trousers  stuffed  into  the  tops  of  his  high 
boots,  came  in.  He  wore  a  brown,  sweeping  mus 
tache,  and  his  eyebrows  were  unusually  heavy. 
On  the  heel  of  his  right  boot  he  wore  an  old  riding 
spur,  very  loosely  strapped. 

"How  are  you,  Captain  Duncan?"  he  said  to  the 

9 


Pole    Baker 

planter,  as  he  extended  his  brawny  hand.  "You've 
come  back  to' God's  country,  heigh?" 

"Yes,  Baker,"  the  planter  returned,  with  a  genial 
smile.  "  I  had  to  see  what  sort  of  chance  you  fellows 
stand  for  a  crop  this  year.  I  understand  Lawson  sent 
you  over  for  me  and  my  baggage.  I'm  certainly 
glad  he  engaged  a  man  about  whom  I  have  heard 
such  good  reports." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,  captain,"  said 
Pole,  his  bushy  brows  meeting  in  a  frown  of  dis 
pleasure,  and  his  dark  eyes  flashing.  "  I  don't  know 
as  I'm  runnin'  a  hack-line,  or  totin'  trunks  about  fer 
the  upper-ten  set  of  humanity.  I'm  a  farmer  my 
self,  in  a  sort  of  way — smaller  'n  you  are,  but  a 
farmer.  I  was  comin'  this  way  yesterday,  and  was 
about  to  take  my  own  hoss  out  of  the  field,  where  he 
had  plenty  to  do,  when  Lawson  said:  'Baker,  bein' 
as  you  are  goin'  to  make  the  trip  anyways,  I'd  feel 
under  obligations  ef  you'd  take  my  rig  and  fetch 
Captain  Duncan  back  when  you  come.'  By  gum, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I've  just  come  in  to  say  to 
you,  old  hoss,  that  ef  you  are  ready  right  now,  we'll 
ride  out  together;  ef  not,  I'll  leave  yore  rig  and  go 
out  with  Nathan  Porter.  I  say  engaged!  I'm  not 
goin'  to  get  any  money  out  o'  this  job." 

"Oh,  I  meant  no  offence  at  all,  Baker,"  said  the 
planter,  in  no  little  embarrassment,  for  the  group 
was  smiling. 

"Well,  I  reckon  you  didn't,"  said  Pole,  slightly 
mollified,  "  but  it's  always  a  good  idea  fer  two  men  to 
know  exactly  where  they  stand,  and  I'm  here  to  say 
I  don't  take  off  my  hat  to  no  man  on  earth.  The  only 
man  I'd  bow  down  to  died  two  thousand  years  ago." 

10 


Pole    Baker 

"That's  the  right  spirit,"  Duncan  said,  admiringly. 
"  Now,  I'm  ready  if  you  are,  and  it's  time  we  were 
on  the  move.  Those  two  valises  are  mine,  and  that 
big  overcoat  tied  in  a  bundle." 

"Here,  Charlie!"  Pole  called  out  to  the  porter, 
"put  them  things  o'  Duncan's  in  the  back  end  o' 
the  buggy  an'  I'll  throw  you  a  dime  the  next  time 
I'm  in  town." 

"  All  right,  boss,"  the  mulatto  said,  with  a  knowing 
wink  and  smile  at  Mayhew.  "  They'll  be  in  by  the 
time  you  get  there." 

While  the  planter  was  at  the  counter  saying  good 
bye  to  the  clerk,  Pole  looked  down  at  Mayhew. 
"When  are  you  goin'  out?"  he  asked. 

"  In  an  hour  or  so,"  answered  the  merchant,  as  he 
spat  down  into  a  cuspadore.  "I'm  waiting  now  for 
a  turnout,  and  I've  got  some  business  to  attend  to." 

"Collections  to  make,  I'll  bet  my  hat,"  Pole 
laughed.  "  I  thought  mighty  few  folks  was  out  on 
Main  Street  jest  now;  they  know  you  are  abroad  in 
the  land,  an'  want  to  save  the'r  socks." 

"Do  you  reckon  that's  it,  Baker?"  said  Mayhew, 
as  he  spat  again.  "  I  thought  maybe  it  was  because 
they  was  afraid  you'd  git  on  the  war-path,  and 
wanted  to  keep  their  skins  whole." 

The  clerk  and  the  planter  laughed.  "  He  got  you 
that  time,  Pole,"  the  latter  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  I'll  acknowledge  the  corn,"  and  the  mountaineer 
joined  in  the  laugh  good-naturedly.  "  To  look  at  the 
old  skinflint,  settin'  half  asleep  all  the  time,  a  body 
wouldn't  think  his  tongue  had  any  life  to  it.  But 
I've  seen  the  dern  thing  wiggle  before.  It  was  when 
thar  was  a  trade  up,  though." 

2  II 


II 

they  were  driving  into  the  country 
road,  just  beyond  the  straggling  houses 
in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  going 
towards  the  mountains,  which  lay  along 
the  western  horizon  like  blue  clouds 
settling  to  earth,  the  planter  said: 

"  I've  seen  you  fishing  and  hunting  with  Mayhew's 
young  partner,  Nelson  Floyd.  You  and  he  are 
rather  intimate,  are  you  not?" 

"Jest  about  as  friendly  as  two  men  can  be,"  said 
Pole,  "  when  one's  rising  in  the  world  an'  t'other  is 
eternally  at  a  stand-still  or  goin'  down  like  a  round 
rock  on  the  side  of  a  mountain.  Or  maybe  I  ought 
to  say,  when  one  of  'em  has  had  the  pluck  to  educate 
hisse'f,  an'  t'other  hardly  knows  B  from  a  bull's  foot. 
I  don't  know,  captain,  why  Nelson  Floyd's  friendly 
to  me.  I  like  him  beca'se  he  is  a  man  from  his 
toe  -  nails  to  the  end  o'  the  longest  hair  on  his 
head." 

"I've  heard  a  lot  of  good  things  about  him,"  re 
marked  the  planter,  "  and  I  understand,  too,  that  he 
has  his  faults." 

"They're  part  of  his  manhood,"  said  Pole,  philo 
sophically.  "  Show  me  a  feller  without  faults,  and 
I'll  show  you  one  that's  too  weak  to  have  'em. 
Nelson's  got  some  o'  the  dust  o'  the  broad  road  on 

12 


Pole    Baker 

his  coat,  an'  yet  I'd  take  his  place  in  the  general 
stampede  when  old  Gabe  blows  his  trumpet  at  the 
millennium  a  sight  quicker  than  I'd  stand  in  the 
shoes  o'  some  o'  these  jack-leg  preachers.  I  tell  you, 
Captain  Duncan,  ef  the  Lord's  goin'  to  make  fa 
vorites  o'  some  o'  the  long-faced  hypocrits  I  know, 
that  is  robbin'  widows  an'  orphans  in  the  week  an' 
praym'  an'  shoutin'  on  Sunday  to  pull  the  wool  over 
folks'  eyes,  me  an'  Him  won't  gee  in  the  hereafter. 
You  know  some'n  about  that  boy's  start  in  life, 
don't  you,  captain?" 

"Not  much,  I  must  own,"  answered  the  planter. 

"Thar  it  is,"  said  Pole,  with  a  condemning  sneer; 
"ef  the  pore  boy  had  belonged  to  one  o'  the  big 
families  in  yore  ring  out  in  Murray — the  high  an' 
mighty,  that  owned  niggers,  you'd  'a'  heard  all  about 
him.  Captain,  nobody  on  earth  knows  how  that 
feller  has  suffered.  All  his  life  he's  wanted  to  make 
some'n  of  hisse'f,  an'  has  absolutely,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  had  more  to  contend  with  than  any  man 
alive.  He  don't  even  know  the  exact  date  of  his 
birth,  an'  ain't  plumb-sure  that  his  name  really  is 
Floyd.  You  see,  jest  at  the  close  of  the  war  a 
woman  —  so  sick  she  could  hardly  walk  —  come 
through  the  Union  lines  in  East  Tennessee  with  a 
baby  in  her  arms.  Accordin'  to  report,  she  claimed 
that  her  name  was  Floyd,  an'  called  the  baby  '  Nel 
son.'  She  put  up  at  a  mountain  cabin  for  the 
night,  a  shack  whar  some  pore  razor-back  whites 
lived  by  name  o'  Perdue.  Old  man  Perdue  was  a 
lyin',  treacherous  scamp,  a  bushwhacker  and  a  moun 
tain  outlaw,  an'  his  wife  was  a  good  mate  to  him. 
Nelson's  mammy,  as  I  say,  was  tuck  in,  but  thar 

13 


Pole    Baker 

wasn't  no  doctor  nigh,  an'  very  little  to  eat,  an' 
the  next  mornin'  she  was  ravin'  out  of  her  head,  and 
late  that  day  she  died.  I'm  tellin'  you  now  all  that 
Nelson  Floyd  ever  was  able  to  find  out,  as  it  come 
down  to  him  from  one  person's  recollection  to  an 
other's.  Well,  the  woman  was  buried  somers,  no 
body  knows  whar,  an'  old  Mrs.  Perdue  kept  the 
baby  more  beca'se  she  was  afeard  to  put  it  out  o'  the 
way  than  fer  any  pity  fer  it.  She  had  a  whole  litter 
of  brats  of  her  own  goin'  about  winter  an'  summer 
in  the'r  shirt-tails,  an'  so  she  left  Nelson  to  scratch 
fer  hisself.  Then  the  authorities  made  it  hot  fer 
Perdue  on  some  charges  agin  'im,  and  he  left  the 
child  with  another  mountain  family  by  name  o' 
Scott  and  moved  clean  out  of  the  country.  The 
Scotts  couldn't  remember  much  more  than  hearsay 
about  how  Nelson  got  thar,  an'  they  didn't  care, 
though  they  tried  to  raise  the  boy  along  with  three 
of  their  own.  He  had  a  tough  time  of  it,  for  he  was 
a  plucky  little  devil,  and  had  a  fight  with  some 
body  mighty  nigh  every  day.  And  as  he  growed  up 
he  naturally  fell  into  bad  company,  or  it  fell  into 
him  like  everything  else  did,  an'  he  tuck  to  drinkin' 
an'  finally  become  a  regular  young  outlaw ;  he  was  a 
bloodthirsty  rowdy  before  he  was  fifteen;  shot  at 
one  man  fer  some  cause  or  other  an'  barely  escaped 
bein'  put  up  fer  life — nothin'  but  bein'  so  young  got 
'im  off.  But  one  day — now  I'm  givin'  it  to  you  jest 
as  Nelson  told  me — one  day  he  said  he  got  to 
thinkin'  about  the  way  he  was  a-goin',  and  all  of  his 
own  accord  he  made  up  his  mind  to  call  a  halt.  He 
wanted  to  cut  clean  off  from  his  old  set,  an'  so  he 
went  to  Mayhew,  at  Springtown,  and  told  him  he 

14 


Pole     Baker 

wanted  to  git  work  in  the  store.  Old  May  hew 
would  skin  a  flea  fer  its  hide  an'  tallow,  an',  seein' 
his  money  in  the  boy,  he  bound  'im  to  an  agree 
ment  to  work  fer  his  bare  board  an'  clothes  fer 
three  years." 

"Low  enough  wages,  certainly!"  exclaimed  the 
planter. 

"Yes,  but  Nelson  didn't  grumble,  and  Mayhew 
will  tell  you  hisself  that  thar  never  was  sech  a 
worker  sence  the  world  was  made.  He  was  a  general 
hand  at  ever'thing,  and  as  bright  as  a  new  dollar 
and  as  quick  as  a  steel-trap.  The  Lord  only  knows 
when  or  how  he  did  it,  fer  nobody  ever  seed  a  book 
in  his  hands  in  business  hours,  but  he  1'arned  to 
read  and  write  and  figure.  An'  that  wasn't  all.  Old 
Mayhew  was  sech  an  old  skinflint,  and  so  hard  on 
folks  who  got  in  his  debt,  that  nobody  traded  at  his 
shebang  except  them  that  couldn't  go  anywhars 
else;  but  lo  and  behold!  Nelson  made  so  many 
friends  that  they  begun  to  flock  around  'im  from  all 
directions,  an'  the  business  of  the  house  was  more 
than  doubled.  Mayhew  knowed  the  cause  of  it,  fer 
lots  o'  customers  throwed  it  up  to  'im.  The  prosper 
ity  was  almost  too  much  fer  the  old  skunk ;  in  fact,  he 
got  mighty  nigh  scared  at  it,  and  actually  tried  to 
dam  the  stream  o'  profit.  To  keep  up  sech  a  busi 
ness,  big  credit  had  to  be  extended,  and  it  was  a  new 
venture  fer  the  cautious  old  scamp.  But  Nelson  had 
perfect  faith  in  all  his  friends,  and  thar  it  stood — a 
beardless  boy  holdin'  forth  that  it  was  the  old  man's 
chance  of  a  lifetime  to  git  rich,  and  Mayhew  half 
believin'  it,  crazy  to  act  on  Nelson's  judgment,  an' 
yet  afraid  it  would  be  ruination.  That  was  at  the 


Pole    Baker 

close  of  the  boy's  three -year  contract.  He  was  then 
about  twenty  year  old,  and  I  was  in  the  store  'and 
heard  the  talk  between  'em.  We  was  all  a-settin'  at 
the  big  wood  stove  in  the  back  end — me  an'  the  old 
man,  an'  Nelson,  and  Joe  Peters,  a  clerk,  who  is  still 
there  but  was  then  workin'  on  trial.  I  shall  never 
forget  that  night  as  long  as  I  live.  I  gloried  in  Nel 
son's  spunk  to  sech  an  extent  I  could  'a'  throwed  up 
my  hat  an'  hollered. 

' '  I've  been  waitin'  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  Mr. 
May  hew,'  the  boy  said.  'Our  contract  is  out  to 
day,  and  you  and  me  disagree  so  much  about 
runnin'  the  business  that  I  hardly  know  what  I 
ought  to  do  an'  not  stand  in  my  own  light.  We've 
got  to  make  a  fresh  contract,  anyway.' 

"'I  knowed  that  was  comin','  old  Mayhew  said, 
with  one  o'  his  big,  hoggish  grunts.  '  People  for 
miles  around  have  made  it  the'r  particular  business 
to  fill  you  up  with  ideas  about  what  you  are  wuth. 
I've  thought  some  about  lettin'  you  go  an'  see  ef 
me  an'  Joe  cayn't  keep  things  a-movin';  but  you 
know  the  trade  round  here,  an'  I  want  to  do  the 
fair  thing.  What  do  you  think  yore  time's  wuth?" 
Pole  laughed.  "The  old  skunk  was  usin'  exactly  the 
same  words  he'd  'a'  used  ef  he'd  been  startin'  in  to 
buy  a  load  o'  produce  an'  wanted  to  kill  expectation 
at  the  outset. 

'"I.  want  fifty  dollars  a  month,  under  certain 
conditions,'  the  boy  said,  lookin'  the  old  skinflint 
straight  in  the  eye. 

"'Fifty — huh!  yo're  crazy — stark,  starin'  crazy, 
plumb  off  yore  base!'  the  old  man  said,  his  lip 
twisted  up  like  it  is  when  he's  mad.  'I  see  myse'f 

16 


Pole    Baker 

pay  in'  a  beardless  boy  a  Broadway  salary  to 
work  in  a  shack  like  this  out  here  in  the  moun 
tains.' 

'"Well,  I'll  jest  be  obliged  to  quit  you  then,' 
Nelson  said,  as  steady  as  a  mill-pond  on  a  hot  day 
in  August,  'an'  I'd  sorter  hate  to  do  it.  Moore 
&  Trotter  at  Darley  offer  me  that  fer  the  fust  six 
months,  with  an  increase  later.' 

"  '  Moore  &  Trotter!'  the  old  skunk  grunted  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  clean  to  the  court-house  across 
the  street.  They  was  the  only  firm  in  this  end  o* 
the  state  that  controlled  as  much  custom  as  May- 
hew  did,  an'  it  struck  the  old  chump  under  the 
ribs.  He  got  up  from  his  chair  an'  walked  clean 
down  to  the  front-door.  It  was  shet  an'  locked; 
but  thar  was  a  lamp  on  the  show-case  nigh  whar  he 
stopped,  an'  I  could  see  his  old  face  a-workin'  under 
the  influence  o'  good  an'  evil.  Purty  soon  he 
grunted,  an'  come  back,  thumpin'  his  old  stick 
agin  barrels  an'  boxes  along  the  way. 

'"How  am  I  goin'  to  know  whether  Moore  & 
Trotter  offered  you  that  much  or  not?'  he  axed. 

"  Beca'se  I  said  so,'  Nelson  told  'im,  an'  his  dark 
eyes  was  flashin'  like  lightnin'.  He  stood  up  an' 
faced  the  old  codger.  '  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr. 
Mayhew,'  he  let  fly  at  'im,  'ef  you  don't  know 
whether  I'm  tellin'  the  truth  or  not  you'd  better  not 
keep  me,  fer  a  man  that  will  lie  will  steal.  I  say 
they  offered  me  fifty  dollars.  I've  got  the'r  written 
proposition  in  my  pocket,  but  I'll  be  hanged  ef  I 
show  it  to  you!": 

"Good!"  exclaimed  the  planter. 

"  Well,  it  knocked  the  old  man  clean  off  his  feet," 


Pole     Baker 

Pole  went  on.  "  He  sat  down  in  his  chair  again,  all 
of  a  tremble,  an'  white  about  the  mouth.  Stingy 
folks  git  scared  to  death  at  the  very  idea  o'  pay  in' 
out  money,  anyway,  an'  stingy  don't  fit  that  old 
cuss.  Ef  Noah  Webster  had  knowed  him  he'd  'a' 
made  another  word  fer  that  meanin'.  I  don't  know 
but  he'd  simply  'a'  spelled  out  the  old  man's  name 
an'  'a'  been  done  with  it." 

"What  final  answer  did  May  hew  give  the  young 
man,  Baker?"  asked  the  planter,  in  a  tone  which 
indicated  no  little  interest. 

"  Why,  he  jest  set  still  fer  a  while,"  said  Pole,  "  an' 
me  an'  Joe  Peters  was  a-wonderin'  what  he'd  say. 
He  never  did  anything  sudden.  Ef  he  ever  gits  to 
heaven  he'll  feel  his  way  through  the  gate  an'  want 
to  know  ef  thar's  any  other  entrance.  I  seed  'im 
keep  a  woman  standin'  in  the  store  once  from  break 
fast  to  dinner  time  while  he  was  lookin'  fer  a  paper 
o'  needles  she'd  called  fer.  Every  now  an'  then  he'd 
quit  huntin'  fer  the  needles  an'  go  an'  wait  on  some 
other  customer,  an'  then  come  back  to  'er.  She  was 
a  timid  sort  o'  thing,  an'  didn't  seem  to  think  she  had 
the  right  to  leave,  bein'  as  she  had  started  the 
search.  Whenever  she'd  go  towards  the  door  to 
see  ef  her  hoss  was  standin',  he'd  call  'er  back  an' 
ax  'er  about  'er  crap  an'  tell  'er  not  to  be  in  a  hurry, 
that  Rome  wasn't  built  in  a  day,  an'  the  like. 
You  know  the  old  cuss  has  some  education.  Finally 
he  found  the  needles  an'  tuck  another  half  an'  hour 
to  select  a  scrap  o'  paper  little  enough  to  wrap  'em 
up  in.  But  you  axed  me  what  Nelson  said  to  'im. 
Huh !  the  boy  was  too  good  a  trader  to  push  a  matter 
like  that  to  a  head.  He'd  throwed  down  the  bars, 

18 


Pole    Baker 

an'  he  jest  waited  fer  the  old  man  to  come  into  the 
grass  of  his  own  accord.  Finally  Mayhew  axed,  as 
indifferent  as  he  could  under  all  his  excitement: 
'When  do  you  intend  to  answer  the  letter  you  say 
you  got  from  Moore  &  Trotter?' 

" '  I  expect  to  answer  it  to-night,'  Nelson  said.  '  I 
shall  tell  'em  I  appreciate  the'r  offer  an'  will  run 
over  an'  see  'em  day  after  to-morrow.' ' 

"Good!  very  well  said,  Baker,"  laughed  Captain 
Duncan.  "  No  wonder  the  young  man's  got  rich. 
You  can't  keep  talent  like  that  down.  But  what 
did  old  Mayhew  say?" 

"It  was  like  pullin'  eye-teeth,"  answered  Pole. 
"But  he  finally  come  across.  'Well,'  said  he,  'I 
reckon  you  kin  make  yorese'f  as  useful  to  me  as  you 
kin  to  them,  an'  ef  you  are  bent  on  ridin'  me  to 
death,  after  I  picked  you  up,  an'  give  you  a  start,  an' 
1'arnt  you  how  to  do  business,  I  reckon  I'll  have  to 
put  up  with  it.' 

"'I  don't  feel  like  I  owe  you  anything,'  said 
Nelson,  as  plucky  as  a  banker  demandin'  good 
security  on  a  loan.  '  I've  worked  for  you  like  a 
slave  for  three  years  for  my  bare  livin'  an'  my  ex 
perience,  an'  from  now  on  I  am  goin'  to  work  for 
number  one.  I  said  that  I'd  stay  for  fifty  dollars 
a  month  on  certain  conditions.' 

"Conditions?'  the  old  man  growled.  'What 
conditions  do  you  mean?' 

'"Why,  it's  jest  this,'  said  Nelson.  'I've  had 
my  feelin's,  an'  the  feelin's  o'  my  friends,  hurt  time 
after  time  by  you  turnin'  'em  away  without  credit, 
when  I  knowed  they  would  meet  the'r  obligations. 
Now,  ef  I  stay  with  you,  it  is  with  the  distinct  under- 

19 


Pole    Baker 

standin'  that  I  have  the  authority  to  give  or  refuse 
credit  whenever  I  see  fit.' 

"That  knocked  the  old  man  off  his  perch  ag'in. 
He  wilted  an'  sat  thar  as  limp  as  a  dish-rag.  Joe 
Peters  worships  the  ground  Nelson  walks  on,  an', 
as  much  as  he  fears  the  old  man,  he  busted  out  in  a 
big  chuckle  an'  rubbed  his  hands  together.  Be 
sides,  he  knowed  Nelson  was  talkin'  fer  the  interest  o' 
the  business.  He'd  seed  no  end  o'  good  customers 
sent  off  fer  no  reason  in  the  world  than  that  Mayhew 
was  scared  o'  his  shadow. 

"Til  never  consent  to  that,  anyway,'  Mayhew 
said,  mighty  nigh  clean  whipped  out. 

"'Well,  Moore  &  Trotter  will,'  Nelson  said. 
'That's  one  o'  the  things  laid  down  in  the'r  prop 
osition.'  An'  the  boy  went  to  the  desk  an'  drawed 
out  a  sheet  o'  paper  an'  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink. 
The  old  man  set  quiverin'  awhile,  an'  then  got  up 
an'  went  an'  stood  behind  the  boy.  '  Put  down  yore 
pen,'  said  he,  with  a  deep  sigh  from  away  down  in 
side  of  'im.  '  It  would  ruin  me  fer  you  to  move  to 
Barley — half  the  trade  would  follow  you.  Go 
ahead,  I'll  keep  you,  an'  run  the  risk.' ' 

The  planter  had  been  listening  attentively,  and 
he  now  said,  admiringly:  "Even  at  that  early  age 
the  boy  was  showing  the  talent  that  developed 
later.  It  wasn't  long  after  that,  I  believe,  before 
he  became  the  old  man's  partner." 

"The  next  year,"  answered  Pole.  "He saved 
every  dollar  of  his  wages  and  made  some  good 
investments  that  turned  out  money.  It  wasn't 
a  big  slice  of  the  business  at  fust,  but  he  owns  a 
half  now,  an',  countin'  his  outside  interests,  he's 

20 


Pole     Baker 

wuth  as  much  as  old  Mayhew.  He's  rich  already, 
captain." 

"So  I've  heard  the  women  say,"  smiled  the 
planter.  "  Women  always  keep  track  of  well-to- 
do  unmarried  men." 

"It  hain't -spiled  Nelson  one  bit,  nuther,"  added 
Baker.  "  He's  the  same  unselfish  friend  to  me  as 
he  ever  was,  and  I  hain't  hardly  got  a  roof  to  cover 
me  an'  mine.  But  as  solid  as  he  always  was,  he  had 
a  serious  back-set  about  three  years  ago,  and  all  his 
well-wishers  thought  it  was  goin'  to  do  him  up." 

"You  mean  when  he  took  to  drinking,"  said 
Captain  Duncan,  interrogatively. 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  mean.  He'd  formed  the 
habit  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  along  with  his  pros 
perity  an'  late  work -hours  it  begun  to  fasten  its 
claws  on  'im  like  it  has  on  some  other  folks  I  know, 
captain.  He  had  a  lot  o'  night  work  to  do,  an' 
Thigpen's  bar  was  right  'j'inin'  the  store.  Nelson 
used  to  slide  in  at  the  back-door  whenever  the 
notion  struck  'im ;  and  he  made  the  trail  hot,  I  tell 
you.  Old  Mayhew  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  'im,  an' 
every  now  an'  then  he'd  git  powerful  blue  over  the 
way  things  was  a-goin'.  Finally  the  old  cuss  got 
desperate  an'  called  a  halt.  He  had  a  straight 
talk  with  Nelson,  an'  told  'im  they  would  have  to 
divide  the'r  interests,  that  he  wasn't  a  drinkin'  man 
hisse'f,  an'  he  didn't  want  to  be  yoked  to  a  feller 
that  was  soaked  half  the  time.  It  fetched  the  boy 
to  his  senses.  He  come  over  to  my  house  that 
night  an'  called  me  out  to  the  fence. 

"'I  want  to  make  a  deal  with  you,  Pole,'  said  he. 

" '  With  me  ?'  says  I.     '  What  sort  of  a  deal  ?' 

21 


Pole     Baker 

"'Why,'  said  he,  'I've  made  up  my  mind  to 
swear  off  fer  good  an'  all,  an'  I  want  you  to  jine 
me.' 

"I  agreed  all  right,"  Pole  laughed.  "  In  fact,  I 
was  sorter  in  that  business;  I'd  promised  every 
preacher  an'  temperance  worker  in  the  county  to 
quit,  an'  I  couldn't  refuse  a  friend  what  I  was  dis- 
pensin'  so  freely  right  an'  left.  So  I  said,  said  I: 
'All  right,  Nelson,  I'm  with  you.'" 

"And  how  did  it  come  out?"  questioned  the 
planter,  as  he  bowed  to  a  wagonful  of  farmers  going 
in  an  opposite  direction. 

"His  vaccination  tuck,"  Pole  smiled.  "He  had  a 
mighty  sore  arm  fer  a  week  or  so,  but  he  helt  out. 
As  fer  me,  I  was  so  dern  glad  to  see  his  success  in 
abstainin'  that  I  started  in  to  celebrate.  I  did  try, 
though.  One  mornin'  I  went  in  the  store  an'  seed 
Nelson  have  sech  a  clean,  prosperous  look  an'  so 
well  satisfied  with  his  stand  that  I  went  out  with 
fresh  resolutions.  What  did  I  do?  I  went  to  the 
bar-room  an'  bought  four  pint  bottles  o'  red  rye 
an'  tuck  'em  home  with  me.  I  set  'em  all  in  a 
straight  row  on  the  mantel-shelf,  nigh  the  edge,  in 
front  o'  the  clock,  an'  was  standin'  lookin'  at  'em 
when  Sally,  my  wife,  come  in.  She  seed  the  display, 
an'  jest  set  kerflop  down  in  her  chair  an'  begun  to 
whimper. 

"'You  hold  on!'  said  I;  'don't  you  cross  a  foot- 
log  till  the  tree's  down.  I'm  tryin'  a  new  dicker. 
I've  always  heard  that  "familiarity  breeds  con 
tempt,"  an'  I've  also  heard  that  "the  hair  o'  the 
dog  is  good  fer  the  bite."  Now,  I've  tried  my  level 
best  to  quit  liquor  by  stay  in'  away  from  it,  an'  I'm 

22 


Pole    Baker 

a-goin'  to  see  ef  I  cayn't  do  it  with  its  eye  on  me 
all  the  time.'  Well,  sir,  the  sweet  little  woman- 
she's  a  sweet,  dear  little  creature,  Captain  Duncan, 
ef  I  do  say  it  myse'f." 

"I've  always  heard  so,  Baker,"  the  planter  said. 
"She's  very  popular  with  your  neighbors." 

"An"  I'm  jest  t'other  way,"  said  Pole.  "Well, 
Sally  she  got  up  an'  kissed  me,  an'  said  that  some 
how  she  felt  like  my  plan  would  work." 

"And  did  it? — I  mean  " —the  captain  recalled 
Pole's  spree  of  only  the  night  before — "  I  mean,  did 
it  work  for  any  length  of  time?" 

"I  was  goin'  on  to  tell  you,"  answered  the  moun 
taineer.  "That  night  fer  the  fust  time  sence  my 
marriage  I  woke  smack  dab  in  the  middle  o'  the 
night,  an'  as  I  laid  thar  in  the  room  filled  with 
moonlight  I  couldn't  see  a  blessed  thing  but  that 
row  o'  bottles,  an'  then  my  mouth  set  in  to  waterin' 
at  sech  a  rate  that  I  got  afeard  I'd  ketch  my  death 
from  sleepin'  on  a  wet  pillow.  It  was  certainly 
a  struggle  with  the  flesh.  I'd  put  my  thirst,  cap 
tain,  when  she's  good  an'  dry,  ag'in  any  that  ever 
tickled  a  human  throat.  It  ud  take  the  blue  rib 
bon  at  a  convention  o'  drunkards.  It's  a  rale  thing ; 
it  kin  walk,  an'  talk,  an'  kick,  an'  squirm,  but  it 
won't  be  dictated  to.  Finally  Sally  woke  up  an' 
said: 

'"What's  the  matter,  Pole?  Hain't  you  com 
fortable?' 

"'Comfortable  the  devil!'  said  I — I'm  usually 
polite  to  Sally,  but  I  felt  like  that  wasn't  no  time  anj 
place  to  talk  about  little  matters.  'Comfortable 
nothin','  said  I.  '  Sally,  ef  you  don't  take  that  "  dog- 

23 


Pole    Baker 

hair  "  out  o'  this  house  an'  hide  it,  I'll  be  as  drunk  as 
a  b'iled  owl  in  ten  minutes.' 

"Dog-hair?"  said  she,  an'  then  the  little  woman 
remembered,  an'  she  got  up.  I  heard  the  bottles 
tinkle  like  sorrowful  good-bye  bells  callin'  wan- 
derin'  friends  back  to  the  fold  as  she  tuck  'em  up  an' 
left.  Captain,  I  felt  jest  like  "  —  Pole  laughed  good- 
naturedly — "  I  felt  like  thar  was  a  mean,  stinkin' 
plot  agin  the  best  friends  I  ever  had.  I  actually 
felt  sorry  fer  them  thar  bottles,  an'  I  got  up  an' 
stood  at  the  window  an'  watched  Sally  as  she  tuck 
'em  away  out  in  the  lonely  moonlight  to  the  barn. 
I  seed  'er  climb  over  the  fence  o'  the  cow-lot  an'  go 
in  at  the  side  whar  I  kept  my  hay  an'  fodder  an' 
roughness  fer  my  cattle.  Then  I  laid  down  in  bed 
ag'in." 

"You  acted  right,"  said  the  planter;  "and  you 
deserve  credit  for  putting  your  foot  down  so  firmly 
on  what  you  felt  was  so  injurious,  even,  even  " — the 
captain  came  back  again  to  reality — "even  if  you 
didn't  remain  firm  very  long  afterwards." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing—"  The  ex-moon 
shiner  laughed  again,  and  his  eyes  twinkled.  "It 
tuck  Sally  longer,  it  seemed  to  me,  to  git  to  sleep 
after  she  got  back  than  it  ever  had  in  all  her  life. 
Of  all  times  on  earth,  she  wanted  to  talk.  But  I 
shet  her  off.  I  made  like  I  was  breathin'  good  an' 
deep,  an'  then  she  set  in,  too.  What  did  I  do? 
Captain  Duncan,  I  spent  the  best  half  o'  that  night 
out  in  the  barn  lookin'  fer  hens'  nests.  I  found 
two,  an'  had  to  be  put  to  bed  at  sun-up." 

The  planter  laughed.  "There  is  one  good  thing 
about  the  situation,  Baker,"  he  said,  "and  that  is 

24 


Pole     Baker 

• 

your  making  a  joke  of  it.  I  believe  you  will  get  the 
under-bold  of  the  thing  some  day  and  throw  it  over. 
Coming  back  to  your  friend  Floyd,  it's  true  he  gave 
up  whiskey,  but  if  reports  are  reliable  he  has  an 
other  fault  that  is  quite  as  bad." 

"Oh,  you  mean  all  that  talk  about  that  girl," 
answered  the  mountaineer. 

"  Yes,  Baker,  a  reputation  of  that  sort  is  not  a 
desirable  thing  in  any  community.  I  know  that 
many  brainy  and  successful  men  hold  that  kind  of 
thing  lightly,  but  it  will  down  anybody  who  tampers 
with  it." 

"Now,  look  here,  captain,"  Pole  said,  sharply; 
"don't  you  be  an  old  woman!  'Ain't  you  got  more 
sense  'an  to  swallow  everything  that  passes  among 
idle  gossips  in  these  mountains?  Nelson  Floyd 
has  got  a  backbone  full  o'  the  fire  o'  youth  an'  is  a 
hot-blooded  young  chap,  but  he's,  to  my  positive 
knowledge,  one  o'  the  cleanest  boys  I  ever  come 
across.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  believe  he 
ever  made  but  that  one  slip.  It  got  out,  unfort 
unately,  an'  beca'se  he  was  rich  an'  prominent  it 
raised  a  regular  whirlwind  o'  talk  an'  exaggeration. 
If  it  had  happened  to  half  a  dozen  other  young  men 
round  about  here,  not  a  word  would  'a'  been  said." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  smiled  the  planter,  "he's  not  as 
black  as  he's  painted,  then." 

"Not  by  a  jugful,"  said  the  farmer.  "I  tell  you 
he's  all  right,  an'  folks  will  know  it  'fore  long." 


Ill 


PRINGTOWN  was  about  twelve  miles 
west  of  Darley,  only  a  mile  from  Cap 
tain  Duncan's  house,  and  half  a  mile 
from  Pole  Baker's  humble  cottage  and 
small  farm.  The  village  had  a  popula 
tion  of  about  two  hundred  souls.  It  was  the  county- 
seat,  and  the  court-house,  a  simple,  ante-bellum 
brick  structure,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  public 
square,  around  which  were  clustered  the  one-storied 
shops,  lawyer's  offices,  cotton  warehouses,  hotel,  and 
general  stores. 

Chief  among  the  last  mentioned  was  the  well- 
known  establishment  of  Mayhew  &  Floyd.  It  was 
a  long,  frame  building,  once  white  but  now  a  murky 
gray,  a  tone  which  nothing  but  the  brush  of  time 
and  weather  could  have  given  it. 

It  was  only  a  week  since  Captain  Duncan's  talk 
with  Pole  Baker,  and  a  bright,  inspiring  morning, 
well  suited  to  the  breaking  of  the  soil  and  the 
planting  of  seed.  The  village  was  agog  with  the 
spirit  of  hope.  The  post-office  was  filled  with  men 
who  had  come  for  their  mail,  and  they  stood  and 
chatted  about  the  crops  on  the  long  veranda  of  the 
hotel  and  in  the  front  part  of  Mayhew  &  Floyd's 
store.  Pole  Baker  was  in  the  store  talking  with 
Joe  Peters,  the  clerk,  about  seed  potatoes,  when  a 

26 


Pole     Baker 

tall  countryman,  in  the  neighborhood  of  forty-five 
years  of  age,  slouched  in  and  leaned  heavily  against 
the  counter. 

"I  want  a  box  o'  forty-four  cartridges,"  he  said, 
drawing  out  a  long  revolver  and  rapping  on  the 
counter  with  the  butt  of  it. 

"What!  you  goin'  squirrel  huntin'?"  Peters 
laughed  and  winked  at  Pole.  "That  gun's  got  a 
long  enough  barrel  to  send  a  ball  to  the  top  o'  the 
highest  tree  in  these  mountains." 

"You  slide  around  behind  thar  an'  git  me  them 
cartridges!"  retorted  the  customer.  "Do  yore  talk- 
in'  to  somebody  else.  I'll  hunt  what  an'  whar  I 
want  to,  I  reckon." 

"Oh,  come  off  yore  perch,  Jeff  Wade!"  the  clerk 
said,  with  another  easy  laugh.  "You  hain't  no 
body's  daddy!  But  here  you  are.  Forty  cents  a 
box,  full  count,  every  one  warranted  to  make  a  hole 
an'  a  noise.  Want  me  to  charge  'em?" 

"No,  I  don't;  do  you  hear  me? — I  don't!  An', 
what's  more,  I  want  to  know  exactly  how  much  I 
owe  this  dern  house.  I've  been  to  a  dozen  money 
lenders  'fore  I  found  what  I  wanted,  but  I  got  it, 
an'  I  want  to  pay  what  I  owe  Mayhew  &  Floyd." 

Just  then  Pole  Baker  stepped  up  to  the  man's  side, 
and,  looking  under  the  broad  brim  of  his  hat,  he 
said: 

"Looky'  here,  Jeff  Wade,  what  you  shootin'  off 
yore  mouth  fer?  I  'lowed  at  fust  that  you  was  full, 
but  you  hain't  drinkin',  at  least  you  don't  seem  to 
have  no  bottle  on  yore  person." 

"Drinkin'  hell!  No,  I'm  not  drinkin',  an',  what's 
more,  I  don't  intend  to  let  a  drap  pass  down  my 
3  27 


Pole     Baker 

throat  till  I've  done  my  duty  to  me  an'  mine. 
Say,  you  look  good  an'  see  ef  I'm  drinkin'!  See 
ef  you  think  a  man  that's  in  liquor  would  have  as 
steady  a  nerve  as  I've  got.  You  watch  me!  Maybe 
it  '11  show  you  what  I'm  able  to  do." 

Turning,  he  stalked  out  of  the  store,  and  Peters 
and  Pole  followed,  watching  him  in  wonder.  He 
strode  across  the  street  to  the  court-house,  loading 
his  revolver  as  he  went.  Reaching  the  closed  door 
of  the  building,  he  took  an  envelope  from  his  pocket 
and  fastened  it  to  the  panel  by  thrusting  the 
blade  of  his  big  pocket-knife  into  it  several  times. 
The  spectators  heard  the  hollow,  resounding  blows 
like  the  strokes  of  a  carpenter's  hammer,  and  then 
Wade  turned  and  came  back  towards  them. 

"  By  gum,  he's  off  his  nut!"  said  Peters,  seriously. 
"He's  as  crazy  as  a  bed-bug." 

"It's  my  opinion  he's  jest  comin'  to  his  senses," 
Pole  mused,  a  troubled  look  in  his  eyes.  "Yes, 
that's  about  it;  he's  jest  wakin'  up,  an'  the  whole 
county  will  know  it,  too.  By  gum,  I  hate  this — I 
hate  it!" 

"You  hate  what?"  asked  Peters,  his  eyes  on  the 
farmer,  who  was  now  quite  near  them.  Pole  made 
no  reply,  for  Wade  was  by  his  side  on  the  brick 
walk  beneath  the  wooden  shed  in  front  of  the  store, 
his  revolver  swinging  at  his  side. 

"You  fellows  keep  yore  eye  on  that  envelope," 
said  Wade,  and  he  cocked  his  revolver. 

"  Look  here,  don't  make  a  damn  fool  o'  yorese'f," 
said  Pole  Baker,  and  he  laid  a  remonstrating  hand 
on  the  iron  arm  of  the  gaunt  mountaineer.  "You 
know  it's  agin  the  ordinance.  You  know  you'll  git 

28 


Pole    Baker 

into  trouble;  you  listen  to  the  advice  of  a  friend. 
Put  up  that  gun  an'  go  home!" 

"I'm  my  own  boss,  damn  it!"  snarled  the  man 
with  the  weapon. 

"Yes,  an'  a  dern  fool,  too,"  answered  Baker. 

"  Well,  that's  my  lookout."  Wade  glared  over  his 
shoulder  into  the  store  and  raised  his  voice  signif 
icantly.  "  I  want  to  show  this  damn  town  how 
easy  it  will  be  fer  me  to  put  three  shots  into  the 
blackest  heart  that  ever  pumped  human  blood." 

"  You'd  better  mind  what  yo're  about,  Jeff  Wade." 
Pole  Baker  was  pale,  his  lips  were  tight,  his  eyes 
flashing. 

"I  know  what  I'm  about.  I'm  tryin'  to  draw  a 
coward  from  his  den.  I'm  not  shore — I'm  not 
dead  shore,  mind  you  —  but  I'm  mighty  nigh  it. 
Ef  the  guilty  stand  an'  hear  what  I'm  a-sayin'  an' 
don't  take  it  up,  they  are  wuss  than  hell-tainted. 
You  watch  that  white  mark." 

The  bystanders,  several  comprehending,  stood 
rigid.  Pole  Baker  stared.  Wade  raised  his  revolver, 
aimed  steadily  at  the  mark,  and  fired  three  shots  in 
quick  succession. 

"Thar!"  said  the  marksman,  with  grim  triumph; 
"as  bad  as  my  sight  is,  I  kin  see  'em  from  here." 

"  By  gum,  they  are  thar!"  exclaimed  Peters,  with 
a  strange,  inquiring  look  into  Pole  Baker's  set  face. 
"They  are  thar,  Pole." 

"You  bet  they  are  thar,  an'  some  '11  be  in  another 
spot  'fore  long,"  said  Wade.  "Now,  Peters,  you  go 
in  the  house  an'  bring  me  my  account.  I've  got  the 
money." 

Wonderingly,  the  clerk  obeyed.  Pole  went  into 

29 


Pole    Baker 

the  store  behind  him,  and,  as  Peters  stood  at  the  big 
ledger  writing,  Pole  stepped  up  to  Nelson  Floyd, 
who  sat  near  a  window  in  the  rear  with  a  newspaper 
in  front  of  him. 

"  Did  you  hear  all  that,  Nelson  ?"  the  farmer  asked. 

"Did  I?  Of  course  I  did.  Wasn't  it  intended 
for —  The  young  merchant  glanced  furtively  at 
Peters  and  paused.  His  handsome,  dark  face  was 
set  as  from  tense,  inward  struggle. 

There  was  a  pause.  Peters  went  towards  the 
front,  a  written  account  drying  in  the  air  as  he 
waved  it  to  and  fro. 

"I  was  about  to  ask  you  if — "  the  young  mer 
chant  began,  but  Pole  interrupted  him. 

"Hush,  listen!" 

There  was  the  sound  of  clinking  coin  on  the 
counter  below.  The  cast  -  iron  bell  on  the  cash- 
drawer  rang  harshly  as  the  clerk  put  the  money 
away. 

"Thar,  I'm  even  with  this  dirty  shebang!"  It 
was  Jeff  Wade's  raised  voice.  "  An'  I  kin  act  when 
the  proper  time  comes.  Oh,  you  all  know  what 
I'm  talkin'  about!  Nobody  kin  hide  a  thing  in 
these  mountains.  But  you'll  understand  it  better 
ef  it  ever  comes  into  yore  own  families.  I  never 
had  but  one  little  sister  —  she  was  all  the  Lord 
ever  allowed  me  to  have.  She  was  married  not 
more  'n  a  month  ago  an'  went  off  to  Texas  with  a 
man  who  believes  in  'er  an'  swears  he  will  make  her 
a  good  husband  an'  protector.  But  no  sooner  was 
the  pore  little  thing  gone  than  all  this  talk  set  in. 
It  was  writ  out  to  her,  an'  she  writ  back  to  me  to 
stop  it.  She  admitted  it  was  true,  but  wouldn't  lay 

30 


Pole    Baker 

the  blame.  Folks  say  they  know,  but  they  won't 
talk.  They  are  afeard  o'  the  influence  o'  money  an' 
power,  I  reckon,  but  it  will  git  out.  I  have  my 
suspicions,  but  I'm  not  yet  dead  shore;  but  I  will  be, 
an'  what  I  done  fer  that  scrap  o'  paper  I  will  do 
fer  that  man,  ef  God  don't  paralyze  this  right  arm. 
Ef  the  black-hearted  devil  is  within  the  sound  o' 
my  voice  at  this  minute,  an'  stays  still,  he's  not  only 
the  thief  of  woman's  happiness,  but  he's  wuss  than 
a  coward.  He's  a  sneakin'  son  of — " 

Nelson  Floyd,  his  face  rigid,  sprang  up  and  went 
into  Joe  Peters's  little  bedroom,  which  was  cut  off 
in  one  corner  of  the  store,  and,  opening  the  top 
drawer  of  an  old  bureau,  he  took  out  a  revolver. 
Turning,  he  met  in  the  door-way  the  stalwart  form 
of  Pole  Baker. 

"Put  down  that  gun,  Nelson!  put  it  down!" 
Pole  commanded.  "Jeff  Wade's  deliberately  set 
this  trap  to  draw  you  into  it,  an'  the  minute  you 
walk  down  thar  it  will  be  a  public  acknowledgment, 
an'  he'll  kill  you  'fore  you  kin  bat  an  eye." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Nelson  Floyd,  "but  the  fellow 
has  his  rights.  I  could  never  draw  a  free  breath  if  I 
let  this  pass.  I  owe  it  to  the  poor  devil,  Pole,  and 
I'll  pay.  That  has  always  been  my  rule.  I'll  pay. 
Stand  aside!" 

"  I'll  be  damned  ef  I  do."  Pole  stood  his  ground 
firmly.  "You  must  listen  to  reason.  It's  deliber 
ate  death." 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  Pole;  don't  make  me  mad," 
said  Floyd.  "I'm  going  down.  I'd  expect  him  to 
pay  me,  and  I  shall  him." 

"Stop!  You  are  a  fool — you  are  a.  damned  hot- 
Si 


Pole    Baker 

headed  simpleton,  Nelson  Floyd.  Listen  to  me." 
Pole  caught  the  revolver  and  held  on  to  the  barrel  of 
it  while  the  young  merchant  clutched  the  butt. 
"  Listen  to  me,  I  say.  Are  you  gom'  back  on  a 
helpless  little  woman  ?  After  you  have  had  yore  fun, 
an*  the  pore  little  trick  gets  married  to  a  man  who 
believes  in  her,  an'  goes  away  off  an'  is  on  a  fair 
road  to  happiness,  are  you,  I  say,  a-goin'  to  publicly 
advertise  her  shame,  an',  no  doubt,  bust  up  a 
contented  home?" 

"Great  God,  Pole!"  exclaimed  Floyd,  as  he  sank 
onto  the  edge  of  Peters's  bed,  "do  you  think,  if  I 
give  Wade  satisfaction  it  will — " 

"  Will  it  ?  It  will  be  in  every  paper  from  Maine  to 
Californy.  Meddlesome  devils  will  mark  the  articles 
an'  mail  'em  to  the  gal's  husband.  A  lot  o'  folks 
did  the'r  level  best  to  bust  up  the  match,  anyway, 
by  talkin'  to  him  about  you  an'  others." 

Nelson  Floyd  stared  at  the  floor  and  slowly  nodded 
his  head. 

"I'm  caught  in  a  more  degrading  trap  than  the 
one  Wade  set  for  me,"  he  declared,  bitterly.  "My 
acts  have  branded  me  as  a  coward  and  left  me 
without  power  to  vindicate  myself.  That's  one  of 
the  ways  Providence  has  of  punishing  a  poor  devil. 
A  man  may  have  a  good  impulse,  but  can't  act 
upon  it  owing  to  the  restrictions  laid  on  him  by 
his  very  sins." 

Pole  looked  down  into  the  store. 

"Nevermind,"  he  said,  gloomily.    "Wade's  gone." 

Floyd  dropped  the  revolver  into  the  drawer  of  the 
bureau,  and  went  back  to  his  desk. 

"  It's  only  a  question  of  time,  Pole,"  he  said.  "  He 
32 


Pole    Baker 

suspects  me  now,  but  is  not  sure.  It  won't  be  long 
before  the  full  story  will  reach  him,  and  then  we'll 
have  to  meet.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I'd  rather 
have  had  it  over  with.  I've  swallowed  a  bitter  pill 
this  mornin',  Pole." 

"Well,  it  wasn't  a  lead  one."  Baker's  habitual 
sense  of  humor  was  rising  to  the  surface.  "  Most 
any  sort  o'  physic's  better  'n  cold  metal  shoved  into 
the  system  through  its  own  hole." 

There  was  a  step  in  the  store.  Pole  looked  down 
again. 

"  It's  old  Mayhew,"  he  said.  "  I'm  powerful  glad 
he  was  late  this  mornin',  Nelson.  The  old  codger 
would  have  seed  through  that  talk." 

"Yes,  he  would  have  seen  through  it,"  answered 
Floyd,  despondently,  as  he  opened  a  big  ledger  and 
bent  over  it.  Mayhew  trudged  towards  them,  his 
heavy  cane  knocking  against  the  long  dry -goods 
counter. 

"  I'll  have  the  law  on  that  fellow,"  he  growled,  as 
he  hung  his  stick  on  its  accustomed  nail  behind 
the  stove.  "No  rampageous  dare-devil  like  that 
can  stand  right  in  my  front  -  door  and  shoot  for 
mere  amusement  at  the  county  court-house.  This 
isn't  a  fort  yet,  and  the  war  is  over,  thank  the 
Lord." 

Pole  glanced  at  Floyd. 

"Oh,  he's  jest  a  little  hilarious  this  mornin',  Mr. 
Mayhew,"  he  said.  "He  must  'a'  met  a  mountain 
whiskey  wagon  on  his  way  to  town.  Anyways,  you 
needn't  complain;  he  come  in  here  jest  now  an'  paid 
off  his  account  in  full." 

"What?  paid  off-      Is  that  so,  Nelson?" 

33 


Pole     Baker 

Floyd  nodded,  and  then  bent  more  closely  over 
the  ledger.  "Yes,  he  paid  up  to  date." 

"Well,  that's  queer — or  I  am,  one  or  the  other; 
why,  boys,  I  had  that  fellow  on  my  dead-list.  I 
didn't  think  he'd  ever  raise  the  money,  and  if  he 
did  I  had  no  idea  it  would  drift  our  way." 

Floyd  left  the  desk  and  reached  for  his  hat.  Pole 
was  watching  him  closely. 

"Post-office?"  he  asked. 

"Yes."  Pole  joined  him,  and  the  two  walked 
part  of  the  way  to  the  front-door  and  paused.  Joe 
Peters  was  attending  a  man  on  the  grocery  side  of 
the  house,  and  a  young  woman,  neatly  dressed,  with 
a  pretty  figure  and  graceful  movement,  stood  waiting 
her  turn. 

"By  gum!"  Pole  exclaimed  under  his  breath, 
"that's  my  little  neighbor,  Cynthia  Porter  —  the 
purtiest,  neatest,  an'  best  little  trick  that  ever 
wore  a  bonnet.  I  needn't  tell  you  that,  though,  you 
old  scamp.  You've  already  found  it  out.  Go  wait 
on  'er,  Nelson.  Don't  keep  'er  standin'  thar." 

Pole  sat  down  on  a  bag  of  coffee  and  his  friend 
went  to  the  girl. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Cynthia,"  he  said,  his  hat  in 
his  hand.  Peters  seems  busy.  I  don't  know  much 
about  the  stock,  but  if  you'll  tell  me  what  you  want 
I'll  look  for  it." 

Turning,  she  stared  at  him,  her  big  brown  eyes 
under  their  long  lashes  wide  open  as  if  in  surprise. 

"Why — why — "  She  seemed  to  be  making  a 
valiant  effort  at  self-control,  and  then  he  noticed 
that  her  voice  was  quivering  and  that  she  was  quite 
pale. 

34 


Pole    Bajcer 

"  I  really  didn't  want  to  buy  anything,"  she  said. 
"  Mother  sent  me  to  tell  Mr.  Peters  that  she  couldn't 
possibly  have  the  butter  ready  before  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  the  butter,"  Floyd  said,  studying  her  face 
and  manner  in  perplexity. 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  went  on,  "  she  promised  to  have  ten 
pounds  ready  to  send  to  Darley,  but  the  calves  got 
to  the  cows  and  spoiled  everything;  that  threw  her 
at  least  a  day  behind." 

"Oh,  that  don't  make  a  bit  o'  difference  to  us, 
Miss  Cynthia!"  the  clerk  cried  out  from  the  scales, 
where  he  was  weighing  a  parcel  of  sugar.  Our 
wagon  ain't  goin'  over  till  Saturday,  nohow." 

"Well,  she  will  certainly  be  glad,"  the  girl  re 
turned  in  a  tone  of  relief,  and  she  moved  towards  the 
door.  Floyd,  still  wondering,  went  with  her  to  the 
sidewalk. 

"  You  look  pale,"  he  said,  tentatively,"  and — and, 
well,  the  truth  is,  I  have  never  seen  you  just  this 
way,  Cynthia.  Have  you  been  having  further  trouble 
at  home  ?  Is  your  mother  still  determined  that  we 
sha'n't  have  any  more  of  our  buggy  rides?" 

"  It  wasn't  that — to-day,"  she  said,  her  eyes  raised 
to  his  in  a  glance  that,  somehow,  went  straight  to 
his  heart.  "I'll  tell  you,  Nelson.  As  I  came  on,  I 
had  just  reached  Sim  Tompkins's  field,  where  he  was 
planting  corn  and  burning  stumps,  when  a  negro — 
one  of  Captain  Duncan's  hands — passed  on  a  mule. 
I  didn't  hear  what  he  said,  but  when  I  came  to  Sim 
he  had  stopped  ploughing  and  was  leaning  over  the 
fence,  saying,  'Awful,  horrible,'  and  so  on.  I  asked 
him  what  had  happened,  and  he  told  me."  The  girl 
dropped  her  eyes,  her  words  hung  in  her  throat,  and 

35 


Pole    Baker 

she  put  a  slender,  tapering,  though  firm  and  sun- 
browned,  hand  to  her  lips. 

"Go  on,"  Floyd  urged  her.     "Tompkins  said—" 

"He  said" — Cynthia  swallowed — "that  you  and 
Jeff  Wade  had  had  words  in  front  of  the  store  and 
that  Wade  had  shot  and  killed  you.  I — I — didn't 
stop  to  inquire  of  any  one — I  thought  it  was  true — 
and  came  on  here.  When  I  saw  you  just  then  ab 
solutely  unharmed,  I — I — of  course  it  surprised  me 
— or,  I  mean — " 

"How  ridiculous!"  Floyd  laughed  mechanically. 
"There  is  some  mistake,  Cynthia.  People  always 
get  things  crooked.  That  shows  how  little  truth 
there  is  in  reports.  Wade  came  in  here  and  paid  his 
bill,  and  did  not  even  speak  to  me,  or  I  to  him." 

"  But  I  heard  the  shots  myself,  away  down  the 
road,"  said  the  girl;  "and  as  I  got  near  the  store  I 
saw  a  group  of  men  in  front  of  the  door.  They 
were  pointing  down  at  the  sidewalk,  and  one  of 
them  said,  'Jeff  stood  right  there  and  fired  three 
times.'" 

Floyd  laughed  again,  while  her  lynx  eyes  slowly 
probed  his  face.  He  pointed  at  the  court-house 
door.  "Cynthia,  do  you  see  that  envelope?  Wade 
was  shooting  at  it.  I  haven't  been  over  to  see  yet, 
but  they  say  he  put  three  balls  close  together  in  its 
centre.  We  ought  to  incorporate  this  place  into  a 
town,  so  that  a  thing  of  this  sort  wouldn't  be 
allowed." 

"Oh,  that  was  it!"  Cynthia  exclaimed,  in  a  full 
breath  of  relief.  "  I  suppose  you  think  I'm  a  goose 
to  be  so  scared  at  nothing." 

His  face  clouded  over,  his  eyes  went  down.     A 

36 


Pole    Baker 

customer  was  going  into  the  store,  and  he  walked 
on  to  the  street  corner  with  her  before  replying. 
Then  he  said:  "I'm  glad,  though,  Cynthia,  that 
you  felt  badly,  as  I  see  you  did,  when  you  thought  I 
was  done  for.  Good-bye,  I  am  going  to  beg  you  to 
let  me  see  you  again  before  long,  even  if  your 
mother  does  object." 

As  they  walked  away  out  of  his  sight  Pole  Baker 
lowered  his  shaggy  head  to  his  brawny  hands,  his 
elbows  resting  on  his  knees. 

"Derned  fool!"  he  exclaimed.  "Right  now,  with 
his  head  in  the  very  jaws  o'  death,  he  goes  on  talkin' 
sweet  stuff  to  women.  A  purty  face,  a  saft  voice, 
an'  a  pair  o'  dreamy  eyes  would  lead  that  man  right 
into  the  fire  o'  hell  itself.  But  that  hain't  the 
p'int.  Pole  Baker,  he's  yore  friend,  an'  Jeff  Wade 
is  a-goin'  to  kill  'im  jest  as  shore  as  preachinV 

When  Pole  left  the  store  he  saw  nothing  of  Floyd, 
but  he  noticed  something  else.  He  was  passing 
Thigpen's  bar,  and  through  the  open  door-way  he 
caught  sight  of  a  row  of  flasks  and  bottles  behind  the 
counter.  A  seductive,  soothing  odor  greeted  him; 
there  was  a  merry  clicking  of  billiard-balls  in  the 
rear,  the  thunderous  thumping  of  cues  on  the  floor, 
and  joyous  laughter.  Pole  hesitated  and  then 
plunged  in.  At  any  rate,  he  told  himself,  one  drink 
would  steady  his  nerves  and  show  him  some  way 
perhaps  to  rescue  his  friend  from  his  overhanging 
peril.  Pole  took  his  drink  and  sat  down.  Then  a 
friend  came  in  and  gave  him  two  or  three  more. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  another  of  Pole's  pro 
longed  sprees. 


IV 


(T  was  Sunday  morning  a  week  later. 
Springtown's  principal  church  stood  in 
the  edge  of  the  village  on  the  red-clay 
road  leading  up  the  mountain-side,  now 
in  the  delicate  green  dress  of  spring, 
touched  here  and  there  by  fragrant  splotches  of  pink 
honeysuckle  and  white,  dark-eyed  dog-wood  blos 
soms.  The  building  was  a  diminutive  affair,  with 
five  shuttered  windows  on  either  side,  a  pulpit  at 
one  end,  and  a  door  at  the  other.  A  single  aisle  cut 
the  rough  benches  into  two  parts,  one  side  being 
occupied  by  the  men,  and  the  other  by  the  women. 
The  only  exception  to  this  rule  was  the  bench  re 
served,  as  if  by  common  consent,  for  Captain 
Duncan,  who  always  sat  with  his  family,  as  did  any 
male  guests  who  attended  service  with  them. 

The  Rev.  Jason  Hillhouse  was  the  regular  pastor. 
He  was  under  thirty  years  of  age,  very  tall,  slight 
of  build,  and  of  nervous  temperament.  He  wore 
the  conventional  black  frock-coat,  high-cut  waist 
coat,  black  necktie,  and  gray  trousers.  He  was 
popular.  He  had  applied  himself  closely  to  the 
duties  of  his  calling  and  was  considered  a  man  of 
character  and  worth.  While  not  a  college  graduate, 
he  was  yet  sufficiently  well-read  in  the  Bible  and 
religious  literature  to  suit  even  the  more  progressive 

38 


Pole    Baker 

of  mountain  church-goers.  He  differed  radically 
from  many  of  the  young  preachers  who  were  living 
imitations  of  that  noted  evangelist,  the  Rev.  Tom 
P.  Smith,  "the  whirlwind  preacher,"  in  that  he 
was  conservative  in  the  selection  of  topics  for  dis 
course  and  in  his  mild  delivery. 

To-day  he  was  at  his  best.  Few  in  the  congre 
gation  suspected  it,  but,  if  he  distributed  his  glances 
evenly  over  the  upturned  faces,  his  thoughts  were 
focussed  on  only  one  personality — that  of  modest 
Cynthia  Porter,  who,  in  a  becoming  gray  gown,  sat 
with  her  mother  on  the  third  bench  from  the  front. 
Mrs.  Porter,  a  woman  of  fifty-five  years  of  age,  was 
very  plainly  attired  in  a  calico  dress,  to  which 
she  had  added  no  ornament  of  any  kind.  She  wore 
a  gingham  poke-bonnet,  the  hood  of  which  hid  her 
face  even  from  the  view  of  the  minister.  Her 
husband,  old  Nathan  Porter,  sat  directly  across  the 
aisle  from  her.  He  was  one  of  the  roughest- looking 
men  in  the  house.  He  had  come  without  his  coat, 
and  wore  no  collar  or  neck- tie,  and  for  comfort,  as 
the  day  was  warm,  he  had  even  thrown  off  the  bur 
den  of  his  suspenders  and  they  lay  in  careless  loops 
about  his  hips.  He  had  a  broad  expanse  of  baldness, 
to  the  edge  of  which  hung  a  narrow  fringe  of  white 
hair,  and  a  healthful,  pink  complexion,  and  mild, 
blue  eyes. 

When  the  sermon  was  over  and  the  doxology 
sung,  the  preacher  stepped  down  into  the  con 
gregation  to  take  the  numerous  hands  cordially  ex 
tended  to  him.  While  he  was  thus  engaged  old 
Mayhew  came  from  the  "  amen  corner,"  on  the  right, 
and  nodded  and  smiled  patronizingly. 

39 


Pole    Baker 

"You  did  pretty  well  to-day,  young  man,"  he 
said.  "  I  like  doctrinal  talks.  There's  no  getting 
around  good,  sound  doctrine,  Hillhouse.  We'd 
have  less  lawlessness  if  we  could  keep  our  people  filled 
plumb-full  of  sound  doctrine.  But  you  don't  look 
like  you've  been  eating  enough,  my  boy.  Come 
home  with  me  and  I'll  give  you  a  good  dinner.  I 
heard  a  fat  hen  squeal  early  this  morning,  as  my 
cook,  old  Aunt  Nancy,  jerked  her  head  off.  It 
looks  a  pity  to  take  life  on  a  Sunday,  but  if  that  hen 
had  been  allowed  to  live  she  might  have  broken  a 
commandment  by  hunting  for  worms  on  this  day 
of  rest.  So  the  divine  intention  may  be  carried  out, 
after  all.  Come  on  with  me." 

"  I  can't,  Brother  Mayhew,  not  to-day,  thank 
you. "  The  young  man  flushed  as  his  glance  struggled 
on  to  the  Porters,  who  were  waiting  near  the  door. 
"The  fact  is,  I've  already  accepted  an  invitation." 

"  From  somebody  with  a  girl  in  the  family,  I'll  bet," 
Mayhew  laughed,  as  he  playfully  thrust  the  crooked 
end  of  his  walking-stick  against  the  preacher's  side. 
"  I  wish  I  knew  why  women  are  so  dead-set  on  getting 
a  preacher  in  the  family.  It  may  be  because  they 
know  they  will  be  provided  for,  after  some  fashion  or 
other,  by  the  church  at  large,  in  case  of  death  or 
accident." 

The  preacher  laughed  as  he  moved  on  shaking 
hands  and  dispensing  cheery  words  of  welcome 
right  and  left.  Presently  the  way  was  clear  and 
he  found  himself  near  Cynthia  and  her  mother. 

"Sorry  to  keep  you  standing  here,"  he  said,  his 
color  rising  higher  as  he  took  the  hand  of  the  girl 
and  shook  it. 

40 


Pole     Baker 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter  at  all,  Brother  Hillhouse," 
the  old  woman  assured  him.  "I'll  go  on  an'  over 
take  Mr.  Porter;  you  and  Cynthia  can  stroll  home 
by  the  shadiest  way.  You  needn't  walk  fast;  you'll 
get  hot  if  you  do.  Cynthia,  I  won't  need  you  before 
dinner.  I've  got  everything  ready,  with  nothing 
to  do  but  lay  back  the  cloth  and  push  the  plates 
into  their  places.  I  want  Brother  Hillhouse  just 
to  taste  that  pound-cake  you  made.  I'm  a  good 
hand  at  desserts  myself,  Brother  Hillhouse,  but  she 
can  beat  me  any  day  in  the  week." 

"Oh,  I  know  Miss  Cynthia  can  cook,"  said  the 
minister.  "At  the  picnic  at  Cohutta  Springs  last 
week  she  took  the  prize  on  her  fried  chicken." 

"I  told  you  all  that  mother  fried  that  chicken," 
said  the  girl,  indifferently.  She  had  seen  Nelson 
Floyd  mounting  his  fine  Kentucky  horse  among 
the  trees  across  the  street,  and  had  deliberately 
turned  her  back  towards  him. 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  did  fix  the  chicken,"  Mrs.  Porter 
admitted,  "but  she  made  the  custards  and  the  cake 
and  icing,  besides  the  poor  girl  was  having  a  lot  of 
trouble  with  her  dress.  She  washed  and  did  up 
that  muslin  twice — the  iron  spoiled  it  the  first  time. 
I  declare  I'd  have  been  out  of  heart,  but  she  was 
cheerful  all  through  it.  There  is  Nathan  now.  He 
never  will  go  home  by  himself;  he  is  afraid  I'll  lag 
behind  and  he'll  get  a  late  dinner." 

"How  are  you  to-day,  Brother  Porter?"  Hill- 
house  asked  as  they  came  upon  the  old  man,  under 
the  trees,  a  little  way  from  the  church. 

"Oh,  I'm  about  as  common,"  was  the  drawling 
answer.  "You  may  notice  that  I  limp  a  little  in 

41 


Pole    Baker 

my  left  leg.  Ever  since  I  had  white-swellin'  I've 
had  trouble  with  that  self-same  leg.  I  wish  you 
folks  would  jest  stop  an'  take  a  peep  at  it.  It  looks 
to  me  like  the  blood's  quit  circulatin'  in  it.  It  went 
to  sleep  while  you  was  a-talkin'  this  morn  in' — now, 
I'll  swear  I  didn't  mean  that  as  a  reflection."  He 
laughed  dryly  as  he  paused  at  a  fallen  tree  and  put 
his  foot  upon  it  and  started  to  roll  up  the  leg  of  his 
trousers,  but  his  wife  drew  him  on  impatiently. 

"I  wonder  what  you'll  do  next!"  she  said,  re 
provingly.  "This  is  no  time  and  place  for  that. 
What  would  the  Duncans  think  if  they  were  to 
drive  by  while  you  were  doing  the  like  of  that  on  a 
public  road?  Come  on  with  me,  and  let's  leave  the 
young  folks  to  themselves." 

Grumblingly  Porter  obeyed.  His  wife  walked 
briskly  and  made  him  keep  pace  with  her,  and  they 
were  soon  several  yards  ahead  of  the  young  couple. 
Hillhouse  was  silent  for  several  minutes,  and  his 
smooth-shaven  face  was  quite  serious  in  expression. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  bore  you  on  that  same 
old  line,  Miss  Cynthia,"  he  said,  presently.  "Really, 
I  can't  well  help  it.  This  morning  I  fancied  you 
listened  attentively  to  what  I  was  saying." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  always  do  that,"  the  girl  returned,  with 
an  almost  perceptible  shudder  of  her  shoulders. 

"It  helped  me  wonderfully,  Miss  Cynthia,  and 
once  a  hope  actually  flashed  through  me  so  strong 
that  I  lost  my  place.  You  may  have  seen  me  turn 
ing  the  pages  of  the  Bible.  I  was  trying  to  think 
where  I'd  left  off.  The  hope  was  this:  that  some 
day  if  I  keep  on  begging  you,  and  showing  my  deep 
respect  and  regard,  you  will  not  turn  me  away. 

42 


Pole     Baker 

Just  for  one  minute  this  morning  it  seemed  to  me 
that  you  had  actually  consented,  and  —  and  the 
thought  was  too  much  for  me." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  any  more  about  it,  Mr.  Hillhouse," 
Cynthia  pleaded,  giving  him  a  full  look  from  her 
wonderful  brown  eyes.  "  I  have  already  said  as 
much  as  I  can  on  that  subject." 

"  But  I've  known  many  of  the  happiest  marriages 
to  finally  result  from  nothing  but  the  sheer  per 
sistence  of  the  man  concerned,"  the  preacher  went 
on,  ardently,  "and  when  I  think  of  that  I  live,  Miss 
Cynthia — I  live!  And  when  I  think  of  the  chance 
of  losing  you  it  nearly  drives  me  crazy.  I  can't 
help  feeling  that  way.  You  are  simply  all  I  care  for 
on  earth.  Do  you  remember  when  I  first  met  you? 
It  was  at  Hattie  Mayfield's  party  just  after  I  got 
this  appointment;  we  sat  on  the  porch  alone  and 
talked.  I  reckon  it  was  merely  your  respect  for  my 
calling  that  made  you  so  attentive,  but  I  went  home 
that  night  out  of  my  head  with  admiration.  Then 
I  saw  that  Frank  Miller  was  going  with  you  every 
where,  and  that  people  thought  you  were  engaged, 
and,  as  I  did  not  admire  his  moral  character,  I  was 
very  miserable  in  secret.  Then  I  saw  that  he 
stopped,  and  I  got  it  from  a  reliable  source  that  you 
had  turned  him  down  because  you  didn't  want  to 
marry  such  a  man,  and  my  hopes  and  admiration 
climbed  still  higher.  You  had  proved  that  you 
were  the  kind  of  woman  for  a  preacher's  wife — the 
kind  of  woman  I've  always  dreamed  of  having  as 
my  companion  in  life." 

"I  didn't  love  him,  that  was  all,"  Cynthia  said, 
quietly.  "It  would  not  have  been  fair  to  him 

43 


Pole    Baker 

or  myself  to  have  received  his  constant  atten 
tions." 

"  But  now  I  am  down  in  the  dregs  again,  Miss 
Cynthia."  Hillhouse  gave  a  sigh.  It  was  almost 
a  groan. 

She  glanced  at  him  once,  and  then  lowered  her 
eyes  half  fearfully  to  the  ground.  And,  getting  his 
breath  rapidly,  the  preacher  bent  more  closely  over 
her  shoulder,  as  if  to  catch  some  reply  from  her 
lips.  She  made  none. 

"Yes,  I'm  in  the  dregs  again — miserable,  afraid, 
jealous!  You  know  why,  Miss  Cynthia.  You  know 
that  any  lover  would  be  concerned  to  see  the  girl 
upon  whom  he  had  based  his  every  hope  going 
often  with  Nelson  Floyd,  a  man  about  whom  people 
say—" 

"Stop!"  the  girl  turned  upon  him  suddenly  and 
gazed  into  his  eyes  steadily.  "If  you  have  any 
thing  to  say  against  him,  don't  do  it  to  me.  He's 
my  friend,  and  I  will  not  listen  to  anything  against 
those  I  like." 

"I'm  not  going  to  criticise  him."  Hillhouse  bit 
his  white,  unsteady  lip,  as  he  pinched  it  between  his 
thumb  and  index  finger.  "A  man's  a  fool  that  will 
try  to  win  a  woman  by  running  down  his  rival.  The 
way  to  run  a  man  up  in  a  woman's  eye  is  to  openly 
run  him  down.  Men  are  strong  enough  to  bear  such 
things,  but  women  don't  think  so.  They  shelter 
them  like  they  do  their  babies.  No,  I  wasn't  going 
to  run  him  down,  but  I  am  afraid  of  him.  When 
you  go  out  driving  with  him,  I — " 

Again  Cynthia  turned  upon  him  and  looked  at  him 
steadily,  her  eyes  flashing.  "Don't  go  too  far;  you 

44 


Pole    Baker 

might  regret  it,"  she  said.  "It  is  an  insult  to  be 
spoken  to  as  you  are  speaking  to  me." 

"  Oh,  don't,  don't!  You  misunderstand  me,"  pro 
tested  the  bewildered  lover.  "  I — I  am  not  afraid  of 
—you  understand,  of  course,  I'm  not  afraid  you  will 
not  be  able  to — to  take  care  of  yourself,  but  he  has 
so  many  qualities  that  win  and  attract  women  that — 
Oh,  I'm  jealous,  Miss  Cynthia,  that's  the  whole 
thing  in  a  nutshell.  He  has  the  reputation  of  being 
a  great  favorite  with  all  women,  and  now  that  he 
seems  to  admire  you  more  than  any  of  the  rest — " 

The  girl  raised  her  eyes  from  the  ground ;  a  touch 
of  color  rose  to  her  cheeks.  "  He  doesn't  admire  me 
more  than  the  others,"  she  said,  tentatively.  "You 
are  mistaken,  Mr.  Hillhouse." 

He  failed  to  note  her  rising  color,  the  subtle  eager 
ness  oozing  from  her  compact  self-control. 

"  No,  I'm  not  blind,"  he  went  on,  blindly  building 
up  his  rival's  cause.  "  He  admires  you  extravagant 
ly —  he  couldn't  help  it.  You  are  beautiful,  you 
have  vivacity,  womanly  strength,  and  a  thousand 
other  qualities  that  are  rare  in  this  out-of-the-way 
place.  Right  here  I  want  to  tell  you  something. 
I  know  you  will  laugh,  for  you  don't  seem  to  care 
for  such  things,  but  you  know  Colonel  Price  is  quite 
an  expert  on  genealogical  matters.  He's  made  a 
great  study  of  it,  and  his  chief  hobby  is  that  many 
of  these  sturdy  mountain  people  are  the  direct  de 
scendants  of  fine  old  English  families  from  younger 
sons,  you  know,  who  settled  first  in  Virginia  and 
North  Carolina,  and  then  drifted  into  this  part  of 
Georgia.  He  didn't  know  of  my  admiration  for 
you,  but  one  day,  at  the  meeting  of  the  Confederate 

45 


Pole    Baker 

Veterans  at  Springtown,  he  saw  you  on  the  platform 
with  the  other  ladies,  and  he  said :  'I'll  tell  you,  Hill- 
house,  right  there  is  a  living  proof  of  what  I  have 
always  argued.  That  daughter  of  Nathan  Porter 
has  a  face  that  is  as  patrician  as  any  woman  of 
English  royal  birth.  I  understand,'  the  colonel 
went  on  to  say,  'that  her  mother  was  a  Radcliffe, 
which  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  historic  of  the 
Virginia  families,  and  Porter,  as  rough  as  he  is, 
comes  from  good  old  English  stock.'  Do  you 
wonder,  Cynthia,  that  I  agree  with  him?  There 
really  is  good  blood  in  you.  •  Your  grandmother  is 
one  of  the  most  refined  and  gentle  old  ladies  I  have 
ever  met  anywhere,  and  I  have  been  about  a  good 
deal." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  Colonel  Price  is  right,"  the  girl 
responded.  "  I've  heard  something  of  that  kind  be 
fore.  I  think  Colonel  Price  had  an  article  in  one  of 
the  Atlanta  papers  about  it,  with  a  list  of  old  family 
names.  My  father  knows  little  or  nothing  about  his 
ancestry,  but  my  grandmother  has  always  said  her 
forefathers  were  wealthy  people.  She  remembers 
her  grandmother  as  being  a  fine  old  lady  who,  poor 
as  she  was,  tried  to  make  her  and  the  other  children 
wear  their  bonnets  and  gloves  in  the  sun  to  keep 
their  complexions  white.  But  I  don't  like  to 
discuss  that  sort  of  thing,  Mr.  Hillhouse.  It  won't 
do  in  America.  I  think  we  are  what  we  make  our 
selves,  not  what  others  have  made  of  themselves. 
One  is  individuality,  the  other  open  imitation." 

The  young  man  laughed.  "That's  all  very  fine," 
he  said.  "  When  it  was  your  forefathers  who  made 
it  possible  for  you  to  have  the  mental  capacity  for 

46 


Pole    Baker 

the  very  opinion  you  have  just  expressed.  At  any 
rate,  there  is  a  little  comfort  in  your  view,  for  if  you 
were  to  pride  yourself  on  Price's  theories,  as  many 
a  woman  would,  you  might  look  higher  than  a  poor 
preacher  with  such  an  untraceable  name  as  mine. 
And  you  know,  ordinary  as  it  is,  you  have  simply  got 
to  wear  it  sooner  or  later." 

"  You  must  not  mention  that  again,"  Cynthia  said, 
firmly.  "  I  tell  you,  I  am  not  good  enough  for  a 
minister's  wife.  There  is  a  streak  of  worldliness  in 
me  that  I  shall  never  overcome." 

"  That  cuts  me  like  a  knife,"  said  Hillhouse.  "  It 
hurts  because  it  reminds  me  of  something  I  once 
heard  Pole  Baker  say  in  a  group  at  the  post-office. 
He  said  that  women  simply  do  not  like  what  is 
known  as  a  '  goody  -  goody  '  man.  Sometimes  as 
coarse  a  fellow  as  Pole  hits  the  nail  of  truth  on  the 
head  while  a  better-educated  man  would  miss  and 
mash  his  thumb.  But  if  I  am  in  the  pulpit,  I'm 
only  human.  It  seemed  to  me  the  other  day  when 
I  saw  you  and  Nelson  Floyd  driving  alone  up  the 
mountain  that  the  very  fires  of  hell  itself  raged  inside 
of  me.  I  always  hold  family  prayer  at  home  for  the 
benefit  of  my  mother  and  sister,  but  that  night  I  cut 
it  out,  and  lay  on  the  bed  rolling  and  tossing  like 
a  crazy  man.  He's  handsome,  Miss  Cynthia,  and 
he  has  a  soft  voice  and  a  way  of  making  all  women 
sympathize  with  him  —  why  they  do  it,  I  don't 
know.  It's  true  he's  had  a  most  miserable  child 
hood,  but  he  is  making  money  hand  over  hand  now, 
and  has  everything  in  his  favor." 

"  He's  not  a  happy  man,  Mr.  Hillhouse ;  any  one 
who  knows  him  can  see  that." 

47 


Pole    Baker 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  he  broods  over  the  mystery  that 
hangs  over  his  origin,"  said  the  preacher.  "That's 
only  natural  for  an  ambitious  man,  I  once  knew  a 
fellow  who  was  a  foundling,  and  he  told  me  he  never 
intended  to  get  married  on  that  account.  He  was 
morbidly  sensitive  about  it,  but  it  is  different  with 
Floyd.  He  does  know  his  name,  at  least,  and  he 
will,  no  doubt,  discover  his  relatives  some  day.  But 
it  hurts  me  to  see  you  with  him  so  much." 

"Why,  he  goes  with  other  girls,"  Cynthia  said,  her 
lips  set  together  tightly,  her  face  averted. 

"And  perhaps  you  know,  Miss  Cynthia,  that 
people  talk  about  some  of  the  girls  he  has  been 
with." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  the  girl,  looking  at  him  with 
an  absent  glance.  "There  is  no  use  going  over  it. 
I  hear  nothing  all  day  long  at  home  except  that — 
that — that!  Oh,  sometimes  I  wish  I  were  dead!" 

"  Ah,  that  hurts  worse  than  anything  I  have  heard 
you  say,"  declared  the  minister,  stroking  his  thin 
face  with  an  unsteady  hand.  "  Why  should  a  beau 
tiful,  pure,  human  flower  like  you  be  made  unhappy 
because  of  contact  with  a— 

"Stop,  I  tell  you,  stop!"  the  girl  stared  at  him 
with  flashing  eyes.  "I  am  not  going  to  have  you 
talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  child.  I  know  him  as  well 
as  you  do.  You  constantly  preach  that  a  person 
ought  to  be  forgiven  of  his  sins,  and  yet  you  want  to 
load  some  people  down  with  theirs — that  is,  when 
it  suits  you.  He  has  as  good  a  right  to — to — to  re 
form  as  any  one,  and  I  myself  have  heard  you  say 
that  the  vilest  sin  often  purifies  and  lifts  one  up. 
Don't  get  warped  all  to  one  side,  Mr.  Hillhouse.  I 

48 


Pole     Baker 

shall   not    respect    your   views   any   more   if    you 
do." 

The  minister  was  white  in  the  face  and  trembling 
helplessly. 

"You  are  tying  me  hand  and  foot,"  he  said,  with 
a  sigh.  "  If  I  ever  had  a  chance  to  gain  my  desires 
I  am  killing  them,  but  God  knows  I  can't  help  it.  I 
am  fighting  for  my.  life." 

"And  behind  another's  back,"  added  the  girl, 
bravely.  "You've  got  to  be  fair  to  him.  As  for 
myself,  I  don't  believe  half  the  things  that  the  busy- 
bodies  have  said  about  him.  Let  me  tell  you  some 
thing."  They  had  come  to  a  little  brook  which  they 
had  to  cross  on  brown,  almost  submerged  stepping- 
stones,  and  she  paused,  turned  to  him  and  laid  her 
small  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said,  portentously: 
"  Nelson  Floyd  has  been  alone  with  me  several  times, 
and  has  never  yet  told  me  that  he  loved  me." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  say  what  is  in  my  mind,"  Hill- 
house  said,  with  a  cold,  significant,  even  triumphant 
sneer  on  his  white  lip,  as  he  took  her  hand  and  helped 
her  across  the  stream. 

"You  say  you  won't?"  Cynthia  gave  him  her 
eyes,  almost  pleadingly. 

"That  is,  not  unless  you  will  let  me  be  plain  with 
you,"  Hillhouse  answered,  "as  plain  as  I'd  be  to  my 
sister." 

They  walked  on  side  by  side  in  silence,  now  very 
near  her  father's  house. 

"You  may  as  well  finish  what  you  were  going  to 
say,"  the  girl  gave  in,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation  not 
untinged  with  a  curiosity  which  had  devoured  her 
precaution. 

49 


Pole    Baker 

"Well,  I  was  going  to  say  that,  if  what  I  have 
gathered  here  and  there  is  true,  it  is  Nelson  Floyd's 
favorite  method  to  look,  do  you  understand? — to 
look,  not  talk  love  to  the  girls  he  goes  with.  He 
has  never,  it  seems,  committed  himself  by  a  scratch 
of  a  pen  or  by  word  of  mouth,  and  yet  every  silly 
woman  he  has  paid  attention  to  (before  he  began  to 
go  with  you)  has  secretly  sworn  to  herself  that  she 
was  the  world  and  all  to  him." 

Cynthia's  face  became  grave.  Her  glance  went 
down,  and  for  a  moment  she  seemed  incapable  of 
speech.  Finally,  however,  her  color  rose,  and  she 
laughed  defiantly. 

"Well,  here  is  a  girl,  Mr.  Hillhouse,  who  will  not 
be  fooled  that  way,  you  may  rely  on  that.  So  don't, 
worry  about  me.  I'll  take  care  of  myself." 

"I've  no  doubt  you  will,"  said  the  preacher, 
gloomily. 

"Yes,  you'll  see  that  I  can,"  Cynthia  declared, 
with  animation.  "There's  mother  on  the  porch. 
Good  gracious!  do  change  the  subject.  If  she  sets 
in  on  it,  I'll  not  come  to  the  table.  Like  you,  she 
believes  all  she  has  heard  against  him.  She  likes 
you  and  hates  the  ground  he  walks  on." 

"Perhaps  that,  too,  will  be  my  damnation,"  Hill- 
house  retorted.  "  I  know  something  about  human 
nature.  I  may  see  the  day  that  I'd  be  glad  of  a 
doubtful  reputation." 

He  caught  her  reproachful  glance  at  this  remark 
as  he  opened  the  gate  for  her  and  followed  her  in. 
Porter  sat  on  the  porch  in  the  shade  reading  a  news 
paper,  and  his  wife  stood  in  the  door- way. 

"Run  in  and  take  off  your  things,  Cynthia,"  Mrs. 


Pole    Baker 

Porter  said,  with  a  welcoming  smile.  "Brother 
Hillhouse  can  sit  with  your  pa  till  we  call  dinner.  I 
want  you  to  help  me  a  little  bit.  Your  grand 
mother  is  lying  down,  and  doesn't  feel  well  enough 
to  come  to  the  table." 

When  the  women  had  gone  in,  and  the  preacher  had 
seated  himself  in  a  rough,  hide-bottomed  chair  near 
his  host,  Porter,  with  a  chuckle,  reached  down  to  the 
floor  and  picked  up  a  short,  smooth  stick,  to  the  end 
of  which  was  attached  a  piece  of  leather  about  three 
inches  wide  and  four  inches  long. 

"That's  an  invention  o'  mine,"  Porter  explained, 
proudly,  as  he  tapped  his  knee  with  the  leather. 
"  Brother  Hillhouse,  ef  you  was  to  offer  me  a  new 
five-dollar  note  fer  this  thing,  an'  I  couldn't  git  me 
another,  I'd  refuse  p'int  blank." 

"You  don't  say,"  said  Hillhouse,  concentrating 
his  attention  to  the  article  by  strong  effort;  "what 
is  it  for?" 

"  I  don't  know  any  other  name  fer  it  than  a  'fly- 
flap,'"  said  Porter.  "I  set  here  one  day  tryin'  to 
read,  an'  the  flies  made  sech  a  dead-set  at  my  bald 
head  that  it  mighty  nigh  driv'  me  crazy.  I  kept 
fightin'  'em  with  my  paper  an'  knockin'  my  specks 
off  an'  losin'  my  place  at  sech  a  rate  that  I  got  to 
studyin'  how  to  git  out  of  the  difficulty,  fer  thar 
was  a  long  fly-spell  ahead  of  us.  Well,  I  invented 
this  thing,  an'  I  give  you  my  word  it's  as  good  fun  as 
goin'  a-fishin'.  I  kin  take  it  in  my  hand  —  this 
away — an'  hold  the  paper,  too,  an'  the  minute  one 
o'  the  devilish  things  lights  on  my  scalp,  I  kin  give  a 
twist  o'  the  wrist  an'  that  fly's  done  fer.  You  see 
the  leather  is  too  flat  an'  saft  to  hurt  me,  an'  I  never 


Pole     Baker 

seed  a  fly  yit  that  was  nimble  enough  to  git  out 
from  under  it.  But  my  fun  is  mighty  nigh  over," 
Porter  went  on.  "Flies  has  got  sense;  they  profit 
by  experience  the  same  as  folks  does;  at  any  rate, 
they  seem  to  know  thar's  a  dead-fall  set  on  my  bald- 
spot,  an'  they've  quit  tryin'  to  lay  the'r  eggs  in  the 
root-holes  o'  my  hair.  Only  now  and  then  a  new 
comer  is  foolhardy  and  inclined  to  experiment. 
The  old  customers  are  as  scared  o'  my  head  as  they 
are  of  a  spider-web." 

"It  certainly  is  a  rare  device,"  said  Hillhouse. 
"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  heard  of  one  before." 

"I  reckon  not,"  the  farmer  returned,  placidly. 
"Somebody  always  has  to  lead  out  in  matters  of 
improvement.  My  wife  an'  daughter  was  dead-set 
agin  me  usin'  it  at  fust.  They  never  looked  into  the 
workin'  of  it  close,  an'  thought  I  mashed  my  prey 
on  my  head,  but  thar  never  was  a  bigger  mistake. 
The  flap  don't  even  puncture  the  skin,  as  tender  as 
the'r  hides  are.  I  know  it  don't,  beca'se  they  al 
ways  fall  flat  o'  the'r  backs  an'  kick  awhile  before 
givin'  up.  I  invented  another  thing  that  I  value 
mighty  nigh  as  high  as  I  do  this.  I  never  have  seed 
another  one  o'  them  in  use,  nuther.  It's  in  my 
room  in  the  bureau-drawer.  It's  a  back-scratcher. 
It's  got  a  long,  white-oak  handle,  like  this,  an'  a 
little,  rake-shaped  trick  with  hickory  teeth  at  the 
end.  Well,  sir,  you  may  not  believe  it,  but  I  kin 
shove  that  thing  down  under  my  shirt  an'  hit  a 
ticklin'  spot  before  you  kin  bat  yore  eye,  while  I 
used  to  rub  the  bark  off 'n  the  trees,  all  about,  in  my 
effort  to  git  bodily  relief.  You  may  'a'  seed  me 
leave  meetin'  right  in  the  middle  o'  some  o'  yore 

52 


Pole    Baker 

talks.  Well,  that's  beca'se  my  wife  an'  Cynthia 
won't  let  me  take  it  to  church  with  me.  They'd  a 
thousand  times  ruther  I'd  go  outside  an'  rub  agin  a 
tree  like  a  razor-back  shote  than  have  me  do  a  thing 
that  the  Prices  an'  Duncans  hain't  accustomed  to. 
Sech  folks  are  agin  progress." 

Hillhouse  laughed  obligingly,  his  mind  on  what 
Cynthia  had  said  to  him,  and  then  Mrs.  Porter  came 
to  the  door  and  announced  that  dinner  was  served. 


BAKER  decided  to  give  the  young 
people  of  the  neighborhood  a  "corn- 
shucking."  He  had  about  fifty  bushels 
the  grain  which  he  said  had  been 
,  mellowing  and  sweetening  in  the  husk 
all  the  winter,  and,  as  the  market-price  had  ad 
vanced  from  sixty  to  seventy-five  cents,  he  decided 
to  sell. 

Pole's  corn-shuckings  were  most  enjoyable  fes 
tivities.  Mrs.  Baker  usually  had  some  good  re 
freshments  and  the  young  people  came  for  miles 
around.  The  only  drawback  about  the  affairs  was 
that  Pole  seldom  had  much  corn  to  husk,  and  the 
fun  was  over  too  soon.  The  evening  chosen  for  the 
present  gathering  was  favored  with  clear  moonlight 
and  delightfully  balmy  weather,  and  when  Nelson 
Floyd  walked  over  after  working  an  hour  on  his 
books  at  the  store,  he  found  a  merry  group  in 
Pole's  front-yard. 

"Yo're  jest  in  time,"  Pole  called  out  to  him,  as 
he  threw  the  frail  gate  open  for  the  guest  to  pass 
through.  "I  was  afeared  thar  was  a  few  more 
petticoats  than  pants  to  string  around  my  pile  o' 
corn,  an'  you'll  help  even  up.  Come  on,  all  of  you, 
let's  mosey  on  down  to  the  barn.  Sally,"  he  called 
out  to  his  wife,  a  sweet-faced  woman  on  the  porch, 
"put  them  childern  to  sleep  an'  come  on." 

54 


Pole    Baker 

With  merry  laughter  the  young  men  and  girls 
made  a  rush  in  the  direction  of  the  barn.  Nelson 
Floyd,  with  a  sudden  throbbing  of  the  heart,  had 
noticed  Cynthia  Porter  in  the  group,  and  as  he  and 
Baker  fell  in  behind  he  asked:  "Who  came  with 
Cynthia  Porter,  Pole?" 

"Nobody,"  said  Baker.  "She  come  over  jest 
'fore  dark  by  the  short-cut  through  the  meadow. 
I'll  bet  a  hoss  you  are  thinkin'  o'  galavantin'  'er 
back  home." 

"  That's  what  I  came  for,"  said  Floyd,  with  a  smile. 

"Well,  I'm  sorry,  fer  this  once,"  said  Pole;  "but 
I  cayn't  alter  my  plans  fer  friend  or  foe.  I  don't 
have  but  one  shuckin'  a  year,  an'  on  that  occasion 
I'm  a-goin'  to  be  plumb  fair  to  all  that  accept  my 
invite.  You  may  git  what  you  want,  but  you'll 
have  to  stand  yore  chance  with  the  balance.  I'll 
announce  my  rules  in  a  minute,  an'  then  you'll  un 
derstand  what  I  mean." 

They  had  now  reached  the  great  cone  of  corn 
heaped  up  at  the  door  of  the  barn,  and  the  merry 
makers  were  dancing  around  it  in  the  moonlight, 
clapping  their  hands  and  singing. 

"Halt  one  minute!"  Pole  called  out  peremptorily, 
and  there  was  silence.  "Now,"  he  continued,  "all 
of  you  set  down  on  the  straw  an'  listen  to  my  new 
rules.  I've  been  studyin'  these  out  ever  since  my 
last  shuckin',  an'  these  will  beat  all.  Now  listen! 
Time  is  a  great  improver,  an'  we  all  don't  have  to 
shuck  corn  jest  like  our  granddaddies  did.  I  want 
to  make  this  thing  interest  you,  fer  that  pile  o' 
corn  has  to  be  shucked  an'  throwed  into  the  barn 
'fore  you  leave  yore  places."  * 

55 


Pole    Baker 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  preach  a  sermon  fust,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Baker,  as  she  appeared  suddenly.  "  Boys  an' 
gals  that  git  together  fer  a  good  time  don't  want  to 
listen  to  an  old  married  man  talk." 

"  But  one  married  man  likes  to  listen  to  that 
woman  talk,  folks,"  Pole  broke  in,  "fer  her  voice 
makes  sweet  music  to  his  ear.  That's  a  fact, 
gentlemen  an'  ladies;  here's  one  individual  that 
could  set  an'  listen  to  that  sweet  woman's  patient 
voice  from  dark  to  sun-up,  an'  then  pray  fer  more 
dark,  an'  more  talk.  I  hain't  the  right  sort  of  a 
man  to  yoke  to,  but  she  is  the  right  sort  of  a  woman. 
They  hain't  all  that  way,  though,  boys,  an'  I'd 
advise  you  that  are  worthy  of  a  good  helpmate  to 
think  an'  look  before  you  plunge  into  matrimony. 
Matrimony  is  like  a  sheet  of  ice,  which,  until  you 
bust  it,  may  cover  pure,  runnin'  water  or  a  stagnant 
mud-hole.  Before  marriage  a  woman  will  say  yes  an' 
no,  as  meek  as  that  entire  bunch  of  females.  Sugar 
wouldn't  melt  in  'er  mouth,  but  when  she  hooks  her 
fish  she'll  do  her  best  to  make  a  sucker  out'n  it  ef  it's 
a  brook  trout  at  the  start.  I  mean  a  certain  kind 
of  a  woman,  now ;  but  thank  the  Lord,  He  made  the 
other  sort,  too,  an'  the  other  sort,  boys,  is  what  you 
ort  to  look  fer.  I  heard  a  desperate  old  bach  say 
once  that  he  believed  he'd  stand  a  better  chance  o' 
gittin'  a  good  female  nature  under  a  homely  exterior 
than  under  a  pretty  one,  an'  he  was  on  the  rampage 
fer  a  snaggle  tooth;  but  I  don't  know.  A  nature 
that's  made  jest  by  a  face  won't  endure  one  way  or 
another  long.  Thar's  my  little  neighbor  over  thar, 
ef  she  don't  combine  both  a  purty  face  an'  a  sweet, 
patient  nature  I'm  no  judge." 

56 


Pole     Baker 

"  Hush,  Pole,  Cynthia  don't  want  you  to  single  her 
out  in  public  that  away,"  protested  Mrs.  Baker. 

"  He's  simply  bent  on  flattering  more  work  out  of 
me,"  responded  Cynthia,  quite  adroitly,  Floyd 
thought,  as  he  noted  her  blushes  in  the  moonlight. 
"We  are  waiting  for  your  rules,  Mr.  Baker." 

"Yes,"  spoke  up  Floyd,  "give  us  the  rules,  and 
let  us  go  to  work,  and  then  you  can  talk  all  you 
want  to." 

"All  right,  here  goes.  Well,  you  are  all  settin' 
about  the  same  distance  from  the  pile,  an'  you've  got 
an  equal  chance.  Now,  the  fust  man  or  woman  who 
finds  a  red  ear  of  corn  must  choose  a  partner  to  work 
with,  an',  furthermore,  it  shall  be  the  duty  o'  the 
man  to  escort  the  girl  home,  an'  in  addition  to  that 
the  winnin'  man  shall  be  entitled  to  kiss  any  girl  in 
the  crowd,  an'  she  hereby  pledges  herself  to  submit 
graceful.  It's  a  bang-up  good  rule,  fer  them  that 
want  to  be  kissed  kin  take  a  peep  at  the  ear  'fore 
it's  shucked,  an'  throw  it  to  any  man  they  like,  an' 
them  that  don't  kin  hope  fer  escape  by  blind  luck 
from  sech  an  awful  fate." 

"  I  think,  myself,  that  it  would  be  an  awful  fate  to 
be  kissed  by  a  man  you  didn't  care  for,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Baker.  "Pole  has  made  his  rules  to  suit  the 
men  better  than  the  women." 

"  The  second  rule  is  this,"  added  Pole,  with  a  smile, 
"an'  that  is,  that  whoever  finds  a  red  ear,  man  or 
woman,  I  git  to  kiss  my  wife." 

"Good,  that's  all  right!"  exclaimed  Floyd,  and 
everybody  laughed  as  they  set  to  work.  Pole 
sat  down  near  Floyd,  and  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe. 
"  I  used  to  think  everything  was  fair  in  a  game 

57 


Pole    Baker 

whar  gals  was  concerned,"  he  said  in  an  undertone. 
"  I  went  to  a  shuckin'  once  whar  they  had  these  rules 
an'  I  got  on  to  exactly  what  I  see  you  are  on  to." 

"Me?     What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Floyd. 

"  Why,  you  sly  old  dog,  you  are  not  shuckin'  more 
than  one  ear  in  every  three  you  pick  up.  You 
are  lookin'  to  see  ef  the  silk  is  dark.  You  have 
found  out  that  a  red  ear  always  has  dark  silk." 

Floyd  laughed.  "Don't  give  me  away,  Pole.  I 
learned  that  when  old  man  Scott  used  to  send  me 
out  on  a  frosty  morning  to  feed  the  cattle." 

"Well,  I  won't  say  nothin',"  Pole  promised.  "Ef 
money  was  at  stake,  it  'ud  be  different,  but  they  say 
all's  fair  whar  wine  an'  women  is  concerned.  Be 
sides,  the  sharper  a  man  is  the  better  he'll  provide 
fer  the  wife  he  gits,  an'  a  man  ought  to  be  allowed 
to  profit  by  his  own  experience.  You  go  ahead;  ef 
you  root  a  red  ear  out  o'  that  pile,  old  hog,  I'll  count 
you  in."  Pole  rose  and  went  round  the  other  side 
of  the  stack.  There  was  a  soft  rustling  sound  as  the 
husks  were  torn  away  and  swept  in  rising  billows 
behind  the  workers,  and  the  steady  thumping  of  the 
ears  as  they  fell  inside  the  barn. 

It  was  not  a  fair  game  he  was  playing,  and  yet 
Nelson  Floyd  cared  little  for  that.  Even  as  it 
was,  it  was  growing  monotonous.  He  had  come 
there  to  see  Cynthia,  and  Pole's  new  rule  was  not 
what  he  had  counted  on.  There  was  a  lull  in  the 
merriment  and  general  rustle,  and  Floyd  heard 
Hattie  May  hew  say  in  a  clear  tone:  "I  know  why 
Cynthia  is  so  quiet.  It's  because  there  wasn't  some 
body  here  to  open  with  prayer." 

Floyd  was  watching  Cynthia's  face,  and  he  saw  it 
58 


Pole     Baker 

cloud  over  for  a  moment.  She  made  some  forced 
reply  which  he  could  not  hear.  It  was  Kitty  Wel- 
born's  voice  that  came  to  him  on  her  merry  laugh. 

"Oh,  yes,  Cynthia  has  us  all  beaten  badly!"  said 
that  little  blonde.  "We  worked  our  fingers  to  the 
bones  fixing  up  his  room.  Cynthia  didn't  lay  her 
hand  to  it,  and  yet  he  never  looks  at  any  one  else 
while  he  is  preaching,  and  as  soon  as  the  sermon  is 
over  he  rushes  for  her.  They  say  Mr.  Porter  thinks 
Mr.  Hillhouse  is  watching  him,  and  has  quit  going 
to  sleep." 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  Fred  Denslow,  as  he  aimed 
a  naked  ear  of  corn  at  the  barn-door  and  threw  it. 
"The  boys  say  Hillhouse  will  even  let  'em  cuss  be 
fore  him,  just  so  they  will  listen  to  what  he  says 
about  Miss  Cynthia." 

"That  isn't  fair  to  Miss  Cynthia,"  Nelson  Floyd 
observed,  suddenly.  "  I'm  afraid  you  are  making 
it  pretty  hot  for  her  on  that  side,  so  I'm  going  to 
invite  her  over  here.  You  see  I  have  found  the 
first  red  ear  of  corn,  and  it's  big  enough  to  count 
double." 

There  was  a  general  shout  and  clapping  of  hands 
as  Floyd  held  it  up  to  view  in  the  moonlight.  He 
put  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  as  he  rose  and 
moved  round  towards  Cynthia.  Bending  down  to 
her,  he  said:  "Come  on,  you've  got  to  obey  the 
rules  of  the  game,  you  know." 

She  allowed  him  to  draw  her  to  her  feet. 

"Now  fer  the  fust  act?"  Pole  Baker  cried  out. 
"  I  hain't  a-goin'  to  have  no  bashful  corn-shuckers. 
Ef  you  balk  or  kick  over  a  trace,  I'll  leave  you  out 
next  time,  shore." 

s  59 


Pole     Baker 

"You  didn't  make  a  thoroughly  fair  rule,  Pole," 
said  Floyd.  "The  days  of  woman  slavery  are  past. 
I  shall  not  take  advantage  of  the  situation,  for  I 
know  Miss  Cynthia  is  praying  for  mercy  right  now." 

Everybody  laughed  as  Floyd  led  the  girl  round  to 
his  place  and  raked  up  a  pile  of  shucks  for  her  to 
sit  on. 

"Well,  there  ought  to  have  been  another  rule," 
laughed  Fred  Denslow,"  an'  to  the  effect  that  if  the 
winning  man,  through  sickness,  lack  of  backbone,  or 
sudden  death,  was  prevented  from  takin'  the  prize, 
somebody  else  ought  to  have  had  a  chance.  Here 
I've  been  workin'  like  a  corn-field  negro  to  win,  and 
now  see  the  feller  Heaven  has  smiled  on  throwin' 
that  sort  of  a  flower  away.  Good  gracious,  what's 
the  world  comin'  to?"  . 

"Well,  I'll  have  mine,  anyway,"  Pole  Baker  was 
heard  to  say,  and  he  took  his  little  wife  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 


VI 


REFRESHMENTS  had  been  served,  the 
last  ear  of  corn  husked  and  thrown 
into  the  barn,  and  they  had  all  risen  to 
depart,  when  Hillhouse  hurried  down 
the  path  from  the  cottage.  He  was 
panting  audibly,  and  had  evidently  been  walking 
fast.  He  shook  hands  perfunctorily  with  Pole  and 
his  wife,  and  then  turned  to  Cynthia. 

"I'm  just  from  your  house,"  he  said,  "and  I 
promised  your  mother  to  come  over  after  you.  I 
was  afraid  I'd  be  late.  The  distance  round  by  the 
road  is  longer  than  I  thought." 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  too  late,"  said  Floyd,  with  a 
polite  smile.  "  I  was  lucky  enough  to  find  the  first 
red  ear  of  corn,  and  the  reward  was  that  I  might 
take  home  any  one  I  asked.  I  assure  you  I'll  see 
that  Miss  Cynthia  is  well  taken  care  of." 

"  Oh!  I — I  see."  The  preacher  seemed  stunned  by 
the  disappointment.  "  I  didn't  know;  I  thought— 

"Yes,  Floyd  has  won  fast  enough,"  said  Pole. 
"An'  he's  acted  the  part  of  the  gentleman  all 
through."  Pole  explained  what  Floyd  had  done 
in  excusing  Miss  Cynthia  from  the  principal  forfeit 
he  had  won. 

But  Hillhouse  seemed  unable  to  reply.  The 
young  people  were  moving  towards  the  cottage,  and 

61 


Pole     Baker 

he  fell  behind  Floyd  and  his  partner,  walking  along 
with  the  others  and  saying  nothing. 

It  was  a  lonely,  shaded  road  which  Floyd  and 
his  companion  traversed  to  reach  her  home. 

"My  luck  turned  just  in  the  nick  of  time,"  he 
said,  exultantly.  "  I  went  there,  Cynthia,  especial 
ly  to  talk  with  you,  and  I  was  mad  enough  to 
fight  when  I  saw  how  Pole  had  arranged  everything. 
Then,  by  good-fortune  and  cheating,  I  found  that 
red  ear;  and,  well,  here  we  are.  You  have  no  idea 
how  pretty  you  look,  with  your  hair — 

"Stop,  don't  begin  that!"  Cynthia  suddenly 
commanded,  and  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  him 
steadily. 

"  Stop  ?     Why  do  you  say  that  ?" 

"  Because  you  talk  that  way  to  all  the  girls,  and  I 
don't  want  to  hear  it." 

Floyd  laughed.  "  I  declare  you  are  a  strange 
little  creature.  You  simply  won't  let  me  be  nice  to 
you." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  like  you  when  you  speak 
that  way,"  the  girl  said,  seriously.  "It  sounds  in 
sincere — it  makes  me  doubt  you  more  than  anything 
else." 

"Then  some  things  about  me  don't  make  you 
doubt  me,"  he  said,  with  tentative  eagerness. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  nodded  her 
head.  "I'll  admit  that  some  things  I  hear  of  you 
make  me  rather  admire  you,  in  a  way." 

" Please  tell  me  what  they  are,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh. 

"I've  heard,  for  one  thing,  of  your  being  very 
good  and  kind  to  poor  people — people  who  Mr. 

62 


Pole     Baker 

May  hew  would  have  turned  out  of  their  homes  for 
debt  if  you  hadn't  interfered." 

"Oh,  that  was  only  business,  Cynthia,"  Floyd 
laughed.  "  I  simply  can  see  farther  than  the  old 
man  can — that's  all.  He  thought  those  customers 
never  would  be  able  to  pay,  but  I  knew  they  would 
some  day,  and,  moreover,  that  they  would  come  up 
with  the  back  interest." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  the  girl  said,  firmly.  "  Those 
things  make  me  rather  like  you,  while  the  others 
make — they  make  me — doubt." 

"Doubt?  Oh,  you  odd  little  woman!"  They 
had  reached  a  spring  which  flowed  from  a  great 
bed  of  rocks  in  the  side  of  a  rugged  hill.  He  pointed 
to  a  flat  stone  quite  near  it.  "  Do  you  remember, 
Cynthia,  the  first  time  I  ever  had  a  talk  with  you? 
It  was  while  we  were  seated  on  this  very  rock." 

She  recalled  it,  but  only  nodded  her  head. 

"It  was  a  year  ago,"  he  pursued.  "You  had  on 
a  pink  dress  and  wore  your  hair  like  a  little  girl  in  a 
plait  down  your  back.  Cynthia,  you  weie  the 
prettiest  creature  I  had  ever  seen.  I  could  hardly 
talk  to  you  for  wondering  over  your  dazzling  beauty. 
You  are  even  more  beautiful  now ;  you  have  ripened ; 
you  are  the  most  graceful  woman  I  ever  saw,  and 
your  mouth! — Cynthia,  I'll  swear  you  have  the  most 
maddening  mouth  God  ever  made  out  of  flesh,  blood 
and — soul!"  He  caught  her  hand  impulsively  and 
sat  down  on  the  stone,  drawing  her  steadily  towards 
him. 

She  hesitated,  looking  back  towards  Baker's 
cottage. 

"Sit  down,  little  girl,"  he  entreated,  "I'm  tired. 

63 


Pole     Baker 

I've  worked  hard  all  day  at  the  store,  and  that  corn- 
shucking  wasn't  the  best  thing  to  taper  off  on." 
She  hesitated  an  instant  longer,  and  then  allowed 
him  to  draw  her  down  beside  him.  "There,  now," 
he  said.  "That  is  more  like  it."  He  still  held  her 
hand;  it  lay  warm,  pulsating  and  helpless  in  his 
strong,  feverish  grasp. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  did  not  kiss  you  back  there  ?" 
he  asked,  suddenly. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  didn't,  but  it  was  good  of 
you,"  she  answered. 

"No,  it  wasn't,"  he  laughed.  "I  won't  take 
credit  for  what  I  don't  deserve.  I  simply  put  it  off, 
Cynthia  —  put  it  off.  I  knew  we  would  be  alone 
on  our  way  home,  and  that  you  would  not  refuse 
me." 

"But  I  shall!"  she  said,  with  a  start.  "I'm  not 
going  to  let  you  kiss  me  here  in — in  this  way." 

"Then  you'll  not  pay  the  forfeit  you  owe,"  he 
said,  fondling  her  hand.  "  I've  always  considered 
you  fair  in  everything,  and,  Cynthia,  you  don't  know 
how  much  I  want  to  kiss  you.  No,  you  won't  refuse 
me — you  can't."  His  left  arm  was  behind  her,  and 
it  encircled  her  waist.  She  made  an  effort  to  draw 
herself  erect,  but  he  drew  her  closer  to  him.  Her 
head  sank  upon  his  shoulder  and  lay  there  while  he 
pressed  his  lips  to  hers." 

Then  she  sat  up,  and  firmly  pushed  his  arm  down 
from  her  waist. 

"I'm  sorry  I  let  you  do  it,"  she  said,  under  her 
breath. 

"But  why,  darling?" 

"  Because  I've  said  a  thousand  times  that  I 
64 


Pole    Baker 

would  not,  but  I  have — I  have,  and  I  shall  hate  my 
self  always." 

"When  you  have  made  me  the  happiest  fellow  in 
the  state?"  Floyd  said,  passionately.  "Don't  go," 
he  urged,  for  she  had  risen  and  drawn  her  hand 
from  his  and  turned  towards  her  home.  He  rose 
and  stood  beside  her,  suiting  his  step  to  hers. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  night  we  sat  and  talked 
in  the  grape-arbor  behind  your  house?"  he  asked. 
"Well,  you  never  knew  it,  but  I've  been  there  three 
nights  within  the  last  month,  hoping  that  I'd  get 
to  see  you  by  some  chance  or  other.  I  always  work 
late  on  my  accounts,  and  when  I  am  through,  and 
the  weather  is  fine,  I  walk  to  your  house,  climb  over 
the  fence,  slip  through  the  orchard,  and  sit  in  that 
arbor,  trying  to  imagine  you  are  there  with  me. 
I  often  see  a  light  in  your  room,  and  the  last  time 
I  became  so  desperate  that  I  actually  whistled  for 
you.  This  way—  He  put  his  thumb  and  little 
finger  between  his  lips  and  made  an  imitation  of  a 
whippoorwill's  call.  "You  see,  no  one  could  tell 
that  from  the  real  thing.  If  you  ever  hear  that 
sound  again  in  the  direction  of  the  grape-arbor  you'll 
know  I  need  you,  little  girl,  and  you  must  not  dis 
appoint  me." 

"I'd  never  respond  to  it,"  Cynthia  said,  firmly. 
"The  idea  of  such  a  thing!" 

"  But  you  know  I  can't  go  to  your  house  often 
with  your  mother  opposing  my  visits  as  she  does, 
and  when  I'm  there  she  never  leaves  us  alone.  No, 
I  must  have  you  to  myself  once  in  a  while,  little 
woman,  and  you  must  help  me.  Remember,  if  I 
call  you,  I'll  want  you  badly."  He  whistled  again, 

65 


Pole     Baker 

and  the  echo  came  back  on  the  still  air  from  a  near 
by  hill-side.  They  were  passing  a  log-cabin  which 
stood  a  few  yards  from  the  road-side. 

"Budd  Crow  moved  there  to-day,"  Cynthia  said, 
as  if  desirous  of  changing  the  subject.  "He  rented 
twenty  acres  from  my  father.  The  'White  Caps' 
whipped  him  a  week  ago,  for  being  lazy  and  not 
working  for  his  family.  His  wife  came  over  and 
told  me  all  about  it.  She  said  it  really  had  brought 
him  to  his  senses,  but  that  it  had  broken  her  heart. 
She  cried  while  she  was  talking  to  me.  Why  does 
God  afflict  some  women  with  men  of  that  kind,  and 
make  others  the  wives  of  governors  and  presidents?" 

"Ah,  there  you  are  beyond  my  philosophic  depth, 
Cynthia.  You  mustn't  bother  your  pretty  head 
about  those  things.  I  sometimes  rail  against  my 
fate  for  giving  me  the  ambition  of  a  king  while  I  do 
not  even  know  who — but  I  think  you  know  what  I 
mean?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  said  the  girl,  sympathetically, 
"  and  some  day  I  believe  all  that  will  be  cleared  up. 
Some  coarse  natures  wouldn't  care  a  straw  about  it, 
but  you  do  care,  and  it  is  the  things  we  want  and 
can't  get  that  count." 

"It  is  strange,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  "but  of 
late  I  always  think  of  my  mother  as  having  been 
young  and  beautiful.  I  think  of  her,  too,  as  a  well- 
bred,  educated  woman  with  well-to-do  relatives. 
I  think  all  those  things  without  any  proof  even  as 
to  what  her  maiden  name  was  or  where  she  came 
from.  Are  you  still  unhappy  at  home,  Cynthia?" 

"Nearly  all  the  time,"  the  girl  sighed.  "As  she 
grows  older  my  mother  gets  more  fault-finding  and 

66 


Pole     Baker 

suspicious  than  ever.  Then  she  has  set  her  mind 
on  my  marrying  Mr.  Hillhouse.  They  seem  to  be 
working  together  to  that  end,  and  it  is  very  tiresome 
to  me." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  don't  love  him,"  Floyd  said. 
"  I  don't  think  he  could  make  any  one  of  your  nature 
happy." 

The  girl  stared  into  his  eyes.  They  had  reached 
the  gate  of  the  farm-house  and  he  opened  it  for  her. 
"Now,  good-night,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand. 
"Remember,  if  you  ever  hear  a  lonely  whippoorwill 
calling,  that  he  is  longing  for  companionship." 

She  leaned  over  the  gate,  drawing  it  towards  her 
till  the  iron  latch  clicked  in  its  catch.  With  a 
shudder  she  recalled  the  hot  kiss  he  had  pressed 
upon  her  lips,  and  wondered  what  he  might  later 
think  about  it. 

"I'll  never  meet  you  there  at  night,"  she  said, 
firmly.  "  My  mother  doesn't  treat  me  right,  but  I 
shall  not  act  that  way  when  she  is  asleep.  You  may 
come  to  see  me  here  now  and  then,  but  it  will  go 
no  further  than  that.' 

"  Well,  I  shall  sit  alone  in  the  arbor,"  he  returned 
with  a  low  laugh,  "and  I  hope  your  hard  heart  will 
keep  you  awake.  I  wouldn't  treat  a  hound -dog 
that  way,  little  girl." 

"Well,  I  shall  treat  a  strong  man  that  way,"  she 
said,  and  she  went  into  the  house. 

She  opened  the  front-door,  which  was  never  locked, 
and  went  into  her  room  on  the  right  of  the  little 
hall.  The  night  was  very  still,  and  down  the  road 
she  heard  Floyd's  whippoorwill  call  growing  fainter 
and  fainter  as  he  strode  away.  She  found  a  match 

67 


Pole    Baker 

and  lighted  the  lamp  on  her  bureau  and  looked  at 
her  reflection  in  the  little  oval-shaped  mirror.  Re 
membering  his  embrace,  she  shuddered  and  wiped 
her  lips  with  her  hand. 

"He'll  despise  me,"  she  muttered.  "He'll  think 
I  am  weak,  like  those  other  girls,  but  I  am  not.  / 
am  not.  I'll  show  him  that  he  can't,  and  yet  " — her 
head  sank  to  her  hands,  which  were  folded  on  the  top 
of  the  bureau — "I  couldn't  help  it.  My  God!  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  must  have  actually  wanted  him 
to — no,  I  didn't.  I  didn't;  he  held  me.  I  had  no 
idea  his  arm  was  behind  me  till  he — " 

There  was  a  soft  step  in  the  hall.  The  door  of 
her  room  creaked  like  the  low  scream  of  a  cat.  A 
gaunt  figure  in  white  stood  on  the  threshold.  It 
was  Mrs.  Porter  in  her  night-dress,  her  feet  bare,  her 
iron-gray  hair  hanging  loose  upon  her  shoulders. 

"I  couldn't  go  to  sleep,  Cynthia,"  she  said,  "till 
I  knew  you  were  safe  at  home." 

"Well,  I'm  here  all  right,  mother,  so  go  back  to 
bed  and  don't  catch  your  death  of  cold." 

The  old  woman  moved  across  the  room  to  Cynthia's 
bed  and  sat  down  on  it.  "I  heard  you  coming  down 
the  road  and  went  to  the  front  window.  I  had  sent 
Brother  Hillhouse  for  you,  but  it  was  Nelson  Floyd 
who  brought  you  home.  Didn't  Brother  Hillhouse 
get  there  before  you  left?" 

"Yes,  but  I  had  already  promised  Mr.  Floyd." 

The  old  woman  met  her  daughter's  glance  steadily. 
"I  suppose  all  I'll  do  or  say  won't  do  a  bit  o'  good. 
Cynthia,  you  know  what  I'm  afraid  of." 

The  girl  stood  straight,  her  face  set  and  firm,  her 
great,  dreamy  eyes  flashing. 

68 


Pole     Baker 

"Yes,  and  that's  the  insult  of  it.  Mother,  you 
almost  make  me  think  you  are  judging  my  nature 
by  your  own,  when  you  were  at  my  age.  I  tell  you 
you  will  drive  me  too  far.  A  girl  at  a  certain  time 
of  her  life  wants  a  mother's  love  and  sympathy; 
she  doesn't  want  threats,  fears,  and  disgraceful 
suspicions." 

Mrs.  Porter  covered  her  face  with  her  bony  hands 
and  groaned  aloud. 

"  You  are  confessing,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  tied 
an'  bound  to  him  by  the  heart  and  that  there  isn't 
anything  left  for  you  but  the  crumbs  he  lets  fall  from 
his  profligate  table.  You  confess  that  you  are  lyin' 
at  his  feet,  greedily  lappin*  up  what  he  deigns  to 
drop  to  you  and  the  rest  of  those — " 

"Stop!"  Cynthia  sprang  to  her  mother  and  laid 
her  small  hand  heavily  on  the  thin  shoulder.  "  Stop, 
you  know  you  are  telling  a  deliberate — "  She 
paused,  turned,  and  went  slowly  back  to  the  bureau. 
"  God  forgive  me!  God  help  me  remember  my  duty 
to  her  as  my  mother.  She's  old;  she's  out  of  her 
head." 

"There,  you  said  something  then!"  The  old 
woman  had  drawn  herself  erect  and  sat  staring  at 
her  daughter,  her  hands  on  her  sharp  knees.  "  That 
reminds  me  of  something  else.  You  know  my 
sister  Martha  got  to  worry  in'  when  she  was  along 
about  my  age  over  her  law-suit  matters,  and  kept 
it  up  till  her  brain  gave  way.  Folks  always  said 
she  and  I  were  alike.  Dr.  Strong  has  told  me  time 
after  time  to  guard  against  worry  or  I'd  go  out 
and  kill  myself  as  she  did.  I  haven't  mentioned 
this  before,  but  I  do  now.  I  can't  keep  down  my 

69 


Pole     Baker 

fears  and  suspicions,  while  the  very  air  is  full  of  that 
man's  conduct.  He's  a  devil,  I  tell  you — a  devil  in 
human  shape.  Your  pretty  face  has  caught  his 
fancy,  and  your  holding  him  off,  so  far,  has  made 
him  determined  to  crush  you  like  a  plucked  flower. 
Why  don't  he  go  to  the  Duncans  and  the  Prices  and 
lay  his  plans  ?  Because  those  men  shoot  at  the  drop 
of  a  hat.  He  knows  your  pa  is  not  of  that  stamp 
and  that  you  haven't  any  men  kin  to  defend  our 
family  honor.  He  hasn't  any  of  his  own;  nobody 
knows  who  or  what  he  is.  My  opinion  is  that  he's 
a  nobody  and  knows  it,  and  out  of  pure  spite  is  try 
ing  to  pull  everybody  else  down  to  his  level." 

"Mother — "  Cynthia's  tone  had  softened.  Her 
face  was  filling  with  sudden  pity  for  the  quivering 
creature  on  the  bed.  "Mother,  will  you  not  have 
faith  in  me  ?  If  I  promise  you  honestly  to  take  care 
of  myself,  and  make  him  understand  what  and  who 
I  am,  won't  that  satisfy  you?  Even  men  with  bad 
reputations  have  a  good  side  to  their  natures,  and 
they  often  reach  a  point  at  which  they  reform.  A 
man  like  that  interests  a  woman.  I  don't  dispute 
that,  but  there  are  strong  women  and  weak  women. 
Mother,  I'm  not  a  weak  woman ;  as  God  is  my  judge, 
I'm  able  to  take  care  of  myself.  It  pains  me  to  say 
this,  for  you  ought  to  know  it ;  you  ought  to  feel  it. 
You  ought  to  see  it  in  my  eye  and  hear  it  in  my 
voice.  Now  go  to  bed,  and  sleep.  I'm  really  afraid 
you  may  lose  your  mind  since  you  told  me  about 
Aunt  Martha." 

The  face  of  the  old  woman  changed.  It  lighted 
up  with  sudden  hope. 

"Somehow,   I  believe  what  you  say,"  she  said, 


Pole    Baker 

with  a  faint  smile.  "Anyway,  I'll  try  not  to  worry 
any  more."  She  rose  and  went  to  the  door.  "Yes, 
I'll  try  not  to  worry  any  more,"  she  repeated.  "  It 
may  all  come  out  right." 

When  she  found  herself  alone  Cynthia  turned  and 
looked  at  her  reflection  in  the  glass. 

"  He  didn't  once  tell  me  plainly  that  he  loved  me," 
she  said.  "  He  has  never  used  that  word.  He  has 
never  said  .that  he  meant  or  wanted  to  mar- 
She  broke  off,  staring  into  the  depths  of  her  own 
great,  troubled  eyes — "  and  yet  I  let  him  hold  me  in 
his  arms  and  kiss  me — me!"  A  hot  flush  filled  her 
neck  and  face  and  spread  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 
Then  suddenly  she  blew  out  the  light  and  crept  to 
her  bed. 


VII 


|N  the  following  Saturday  morning  there 
was,  as  usual,  a  considerable  gathering 
of  farmers  at  Springtown.  A  heavy 
fall  of  rain  during  the  night  had  ren 
dered  the  soil  unfit  for  ploughing,  and  it 
was  a  sort  of  enforced  holiday.  Many  -of  them  stood 
around  Mayhew  &  Floyd's  store.  Several  women 
and  children  were  seated  between  the  two  long 
counters,  on  boxes  and  the  few  available  chairs. 
Nelson  Floyd  was  at  the  high  desk  in  the  rear, 
occupied  with  business  letters,  when  Pole  Baker 
came  in  at  the  back-door  and  stood  near  the  writer, 
furtively  scanning  the  long  room. 

"Where's  the  old  man?"  he  asked,  when  Floyd 
looked  up  and  saw  him. 

"Not  down  yet.  Dry  up,  Pole;  I  was  making  a 
calculation,  and  you  knocked  it  hell  west  and 
crooked." 

"Well,  I  reckon  that  kin  wait.     I've  got  a  note 
fer  you."     Pole  was  taking  it  from  his  coat-pocket. 
"Miss  Cynthia?"  Floyd  asked,  eagerly. 
"  Not  by  a  long  shot,"  said  Pole.     "  I  reckon  may 
be  you'll  wish  it  was."     He  threw  the  missive  on  the 
desk,  and  went  on  in  quite  a  portentous  tone.     "I 
come  by  Jeff  Wade's  house,   Nelson,   on  my  way 
back  from  the  mill.     He  was  inside  with  his  wife 

72 


Pole    Baker 

and  childern,  an'  as  I  was  passin'  one  of  the  little 
boys  run  out  to  the  fence  and  called  me  in  to  whar 
he  was.  He's  a  devil  of  a  fellow!  He's  expectin' 
his  wife  to  be  confined,  an'  I  saw  he  was  tryin' 
to  keep  her  in  the  dark.  What  you  reckon  he 
said?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  The  young  merchant,  with 
a  serious  expression  of  face,  had  torn  open  the 
envelope,  but  had  not  yet  unfolded  the  sheet  of 
cheap,  blue-lined  writing-paper. 

"Why,  he  jest  set  thar  in  his  chair  before  the 
fire,  an'  as  he  handed  the  note  up  to  me  he  sorter 
looked  knowin'  an'  said,  said  he:  'Pole,  I'm  owin' 
May  hew  &  Floyd  a  little  balance  on  my  account, 
an'  they  seem  uneasy.  I  wish  you'd  take  this  letter 
to  young  Floyd.  He's  always  stood  to  me,  sorter, 
an'  I  believe  he'll  git  old  Mayhew  to  wait  on  me  a 
little  while." 

"Did  he  say  that,  Pole?"  Floyd  had  opened  the 
note,  but  was  looking  straight  into  Baker's  eyes. 

"Yes,  he  said  them  very  words,  Nelson,  although 
he  knowed  I  was  on  hand  that  day  when  he  paid  off 
his  bill  in  full.  I  couldn't  chip  in  thar  before  his 
wife,  an'  the  Lord  knows  I  couldn't  tell  him  I  had 
an  idea  what  was  in  the  note,  so  I  rid  on  as  fast  as  I 
could.  I  had  a  turn  o'  meal  under  me,  an'  I  tuck 
it  off  an'  hid  it  in  the  thicket  t'other  side  o'  Duncan's 
big  spring.  I  wasn't  goin'  to  carry  a  secret  war- 
message  a-straddle  o'  two  bushels  o'  meal  warm 
from  the  mill-rocks.  An'  I'd  bet  my  hat  that  sheet 
o'  paper  hain't  no  flag  o'  truce." 

Floyd  read  the  note.  There  was  scarcely  a  change 
in  the  expression  of  his  face  or  a  flicker  of  his  eye- 

73 


Pole     Baker 

lashes  as  he  folded  it  with  steady  fingers  and  held  it 
in  his  hand. 

"Yes,  he  says  he  has  got  the  whole  story,  Pole," 
Floyd  said.  "He  gives  me  fair  warning  as  a  man 
of  honor  to  arm  myself.  He  will  be  here  at  twelve 
o'clock  to  the  minute." 

"Great  God!"  Pole  ejaculated.  "You  hain't  one 
chance  in  a  million  to  escape  with  yore  life.  You 
seed  how  he  shot  t'other  day.  He  was  excited 
then — he  was  as  ca'm  as  a  rock  mountain  when  I 
seed  him  awhile  ago,  an'  his  ride  to  town  will  steady 
'im  more.  He  sorter  drawed  down  his  mouth  at 
one  corner  an'  cocked  up  his  eye,  same  as  to  say, 
'You  understand;  thar  hain't  no  use  in  upsettin' 
women  folks  over  a  necessary  matter  o'  this  sort.' 
Looky'  here,  Nelson,  old  pard,  some'n  has  got  to  be 
done,  an'  it's  got  to  be  done  in  a  damn  big  hurry." 

"  It  will  have  to  be  done  at  twelve  'clock,  any 
way,"  Floyd  said,  calmly,  a  grim  smile  almost  ris 
ing  to  his  face.  "That's  the  hour  he's  appointed." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  a-goin'  to  set 
here  like  a  knot  on  a  log  an'  'low  that  keen-eyed 
mountain  sharp-shooter  to  step  up  in  that  door  an' 
pin  you  to  that  stool?" 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that,  exactly,  Pole,"  Floyd 
smiled,  coldly.  "A  man  ought  not  to  insult  even 
his  antagonist  that  way.  You  see,  that  would  be 
making  the  offended  party  liable  for  wilful,  cold 
blooded  murder  before  the  law.  No,  I've  got  my 
gun  here  in  the  drawer,  and  we'll  make  a  pretence 
at  fighting  a  duel,  even  if  he  downs  me  in  the  first 
round." 

"  You  are  a  fool,  that's  what  you  are!"  Pole  was 

74 


Pole    Baker 

angry,  without  knowing  why.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  you  are  a-goin'  to  put  yore  life  up  like  that  to 
gratify  a  man  o'  Jeff  Wade's  stamp?" 

"  He's  got  his  rights,  Pole,  and  I  intend  to  re 
spect  them,"  Floyd  responded  with  firmness.  "I've 
hurt  his  family  pride,  and  I'd  deserve  to  be  kicked  off 
the  face  of  the  earth  if  I  turned  tail  and  ran.  He 
seems  to  think  I  may  light  out;  I  judge  that  by  his 
setting  the  time  a  couple  of  hours  ahead,  but  I'll 
give  him  satisfaction.  I'm  built  that  way,  Pole. 
There  is  no  use  arguing  about  it." 

The  farmer  stepped  forward  and  laid  a  heavy 
hand  on  Floyd's  shoulder,  and  stared  at  him  from 
beneath  his  lowering  brows. 

"  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  you  wasn't  the 
only  man  that  —  that  dabbled  in  that  dirty  busi 
ness,"  he  said,  sharply,  "an'  it's  derned  foolish  fer 
you  to— 

"I'm  the  only  one  he's  charging  with  it,"  broke 
in  the  merchant,  "and  that  settles  it.  I'm  not  an 
overgrown  baby,  Pole.  Right  now  you  are  trying 
to  get  me  to  act  in  a  way  that  would  make  you 
heartily  ashamed  of  me.  You  might  as  well  dry  up. 
I'm  not  going  to  run.  I'm  going  to  meet  Jeff  Wade, 
fair  and  square,  as  a  man — as  I'd  want  him  to  meet 
me  under  like  circumstances." 

"My  God!  my  God!"  Pole  said  under  his  breath. 
"Hush!  thar  comes  Mayhew.  I  reckon  you  don't 
want  him  to  know  about  it." 

"  No,  he'd  be  in  for  swearing  out  a  peace-warrant. 
For  all  you  do,  Pole,  don't  let  him  onto  it.     I've  got 
to  write  a  letter  or  two  before  Wade  comes ;  don't  let 
the  old  man  interrupt  me." 
6  75 


Pole    Baker 

"I'll  feel  like  I'm  dancin'  on  yore  scaffold,"  the 
farmer  growled.  "  I  want  my  mind  free  to — to  study. 
Thar!  he's  stopped  to  speak  to  Joe  Peters.  Say,  Nel 
son,  I  see  Mel  Jones  down  thar  talkin'  to  a  squad  in 
front  o'  the  door ;  they've  got  the'r  heads  packed  to 
gether  as  close  as  sardines.  I  see  through  it  now. 
My  Lord,  I  see  through  that." 

"  What  is  it  you  see  through,  Pole  ?"  Floyd  looked 
up  from  Wade's  note,  his  brow  furrowed. 

"Why,  Mel's  Jeff  Wade's  fust  cousin;  he's  onto 
what's  up,  an'  he's  confidin'  it  to  a  few;  it  will  be 
all  over  this  town  in  five  minutes,  an'  the  women  an' 
childern  will  hide  out  to  keep  from  bein'  hit.  Thar 
they  come  in  at  the  front  now,  an'  they  are  around 
the  old  man  like  red  ants  over  the  body  of  a  blackj 
one.  He'll  be  onto  it  in  a  minute.  Thar,  see? 
What  did  I  tell  you?  He's  comin'  this  way.  You 
can  tell  by  the  old  duck's  waddle  that  he  is  excited." 

Floyd  muttered  something  that  escaped  Pole's 
ears,  and  began  writing.  Mayhew  came  on  rapidly, 
tapping  his  heavy  cane  on  the  floor,  his  eyes  glued 
on  the  placid  profile  of  his  young  partner. 

"What's  this  I  hear?"  he  panted.  "Has  Jeff 
Wade  sent  you  word  that  he  is  comin'  here  to 
shoot  you?" 

Pole  laughed  out  merrily,  and,  stepping  forward, 
he  slapped  the  old  merchant  familiarly  on  the  arm. 
"It's  a  joke,  Mr.  Mayhew,"  he  said.  "I  put  it  up 
on  Mel  Jones  as  me  'n  him  rid  in  town ;  he's  always 
makin'  fun  o'  women  fer  tattlin',  an'  said  I  to 
myse'f,  said  I,  '  I'll  see  how  deep  that's  rooted  under 
yore  hide,  old  chap,'  an'  so  I  made  that  up  out  o' 
whole  cloth.  I  was  jest  tellin'  Nelson,  here,  that  I'd 

76 


Pole    Baker 

bet  a  boss  to  a  ginger-cake  that  Mel  ud  not  be  able 
to  keep  it,  an'  he  hain't.  Nelson,  by  George,  the 
triflin'  skunk  let  it  out  inside  o'  ten  minutes,  al 
though  he  swore  to  me  he'd  keep  his  mouth  shet. 
I'll  make  'im  set  up  the  drinks  on  that." 

"Well,  I  don't  like  such  jokes,"  May  hew  fumed. 
"Jokes  like  that  and  what's  at  the  bottom  of  them 
don't  do  a  reputable  house  any  good.  And  I  don't 
want  any  more  of  them.  Do  you  understand, 
sir?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  won't  do  it  ag'in,"  answered  Pole,  in  an 
almost  absent-minded  tone.  His  eyes  were  now  on 
Floyd,  and,  despite  his  assumed  lightness  of  manner, 
the  real  condition  of  things  was  bearing  heavily  on 
him.  Just  then  a  rough-looking  farmer,  in  a  suit 
of  home-made  jeans,  straw  hat,  and  shoes  worn 
through  at  the  bottom,  came  back  to  them.  He 
held  in  his  hand  the  point  of  a  plough,  and  looked 
nervously  about  him. 

"Everybody's  busy  down  in  front,"  he  said,  "an* 
I  want  to  git  a  quarter's  wuth  o'  coffee."  His 
glance,  full  of  curiosity,  was  on  Floyd's  face.  "I 
want  to  stay  till  Wade  comes,  myself,  but  my  old 
woman's  almost  got  a  spasm.  She  says  she  seed  , 
enough  bloodshed  an'  carnage  durin'  the  war  to  do 
her,  an'  then  she  always  liked  Mr.  Floyd.  She  says 
she'd  mighty  nigh  as  soon  see  an  own  brother  laid 
out  as  him.  Mr.  Floyd  sorter  done  us  a  favor  two 
year  back  when  he  stood  fer  us  on  our  corn  crop, 
an',  as  fer  me,  why,  of  course,  I— 

"Look  here,  Bill  Champ,"  Pole  burst  out  in  a 
spontaneous  laugh,  "  I  thought  you  had  more  sense 
than  to  swallow  a  joke  like  that.  Go  tell  yore  old 

77 


Pole    Baker 

woman  that  I  started  that  tale  jest  fer  pure  fun. 
Nelson  here  an'  Wade  is  good  friends." 

"Oh,  well,  ef  that's  it,  I'm  sold,"  the  farmer 
said,  sheepishly.  "  But  from  the  way  Mel  Jones  an' 
some  more  talked  down  thar  a  body  would  think 
you  fellers  was  back  here  takin'  Mr.  Floyd's  measure 
fer  his  box.  I'll  go  quiet  my  wife.  She  couldn't 
talk  of  a  thing  all  the  way  here  this  mornin'  but  a 
new  dress  she  was  goin'  to  git,  an'  now  she's  fer 
hurryin'  back  without  even  pickin'  out  the  cloth." 

"No,  I  don't  like  this  sort  o'  thing,"  old  Mayhew 
growled  as  the  customer  moved  away.  "  An'  I  want 
you  to  remember  that,  Baker." 

"Oh,  you  dry  up,  old  man!"  Pole  retorted,  with 
sudden  impatience.  "You'd  live  longer  an'  enjoy 
life  better  ef  you'd  joke  more.  Ef  the  marrow  o' 
my  bones  was  as  sour  as  yore'n  is  I'd  cut  my  throat 
or  go  into  the  vinegar  business." 

At  this  juncture  Captain  Duncan  came  in  the 
store  and  walked  back  to  the  trio. 

"Good-morning,"  he  said,  cheerily.  "Say,  Floyd, 
I've  heard  the  news,  and  thought  if  you  wanted  to 
borrow  a  pair  of  real  good,  old-fashioned  duelling 
pistols,  why,  I've  got  some  my  father  owned.  They 
were  once  used  by  General — " 

"It's  all  a  joke,  captain,"  Pole  broke  in,  winking 
at  the  planter,  and  casting  a  look  of  warning  at  the 
now  unobservant  Mayhew. 

"  Oh,  is  that  it  ?"  Duncan  was  quick  of  perception. 
"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  thought  so,  boys.  Yes, 
yes — "  He  was  studying  Floyd's  calm  face  admir 
ingly.  "Yes,  it  sounded  to  me  like  a  prank  some 
body  was  playing.  Well,  I  thought  I'd  go  fishing 

78 


Pole    Baker 

this  evening,  and  came  in  to  get  some  hooks  and 
lines.  Fine  weather,  isn't  it?  but  the  river's  muddy. 
I'll  go  down  and  pick  out  some  tackle." 

He  had  just  gone  when  an  old  woman,  wearing  a 
cheap  breakfast  shawl  over  her  gray  head,  a  dress  of 
dingy  solid-black  calico,  and  a  pair  of  old,  heavy 
shoes,  approached  from  the  door  in  the  rear. 

"I  got  yore  summons,  Mr.  Mayhew,"  she  said,  in 
a  thin,  shaky  voice.  "Peter,  my  husband,  was  so 
down-hearted  that  he  wouldn't  come  to  town,  an'  so 
I  had  to  do  it.  So  you  are  goin'  to  foreclose  on  us? 
The  mule  an'  cow  is  all  on  earth  we've  got  to  make 
the  crop  on,  and  when  they  are  gone  we  will  be 
plumb  ruined." 

The  face  of  the  old  merchant  was  like  carved 
stone. 

"You  got  the  goods,  didn't  you,  Mrs.  Stark?"  he 
asked,  harshly. 

"Oh  yes,  we  hain't  disputin'  the  account,"  she 
answered,  plaintively. 

"  And  you  agreed  faithfully  if  you  didn't  pay  this 
spring  that  the  mule  and  cow  would  be  our  prop 
erty?" 

"Oh  yes,  of  course.  As  I  say,  Mr.  Mayhew,  I'm 
not  blamin'  you-uns.  Thar  hain't  a  thing  for  me 
an'  Peter  to  do  but  thrust  ourselves  on  my  daughter 
and  son-in-law  over  in  Fannin',  but  I'd  rather  die 
than  go.  We  won't  be  welcome;  they  are  loaded 
down  with  childern  too  young  to  work.  So  it's 
settled,  Mr.  Mayhew — I  mean,  ef  we  drive  over  the 
mule  an'  cow,  thar  won't  be  no  lawsuit?" 

"No,  there  won't  be  any  suit.  I'd  let  this  pass 
and  give  you  more  time,  Mrs.  Stark,  but  a  thing 

79 


Pole    Baker 

like  that  can't  be  kept  quiet  through  the  country, 
an'  there  are  fifty  customers  of  ours  over  your  way 
who'd  be  runnin'  here  with  some  cock-and-bull 
story,  and  we'd  be  left  high  and  dry,  with  goods  to 
pay  for  in  market  and  nothing  to  show  for  it.  We 
make  our  rules,  Mrs.  Stark,  and  they  are  clearly  un 
derstood  at  the  time  the  papers  are  signed." 

"Never  you  mind,  Mrs.  Stark,  I'll  fix  that  all 
right."  It  was  Nelson  Floyd  who  was  speaking, 
and  with  a  face  full  of  pity  and  tenderness  he  had 
stepped  forward  and  was  offering  to  shake  hands. 

The  little  woman,  her  lips  twitching  and  drawn, 
gave  him  her  hand,  her  eyes  wide  open  in  groping 
wonder. 

"I  don't  understand,  Nelson  —  Mr.  Floyd  —  you 
mean — 

"  I  mean  that  I'll  have  your  entire  account  charged 
to  me  and  you  can  take  your  time  about  paying  it — 
next  fall,  or  the  next,  or  any  time  it  suits  you.  I'll 
not  press  you  fer  it,  if  you  never  pay  it.  I  passed 
your  place  the  other  day  and  your  crop  looks  very 
promising.  You  are  sure  to  get  out  of  debt  this 
coming  fall." 

"  Oh,  Nelson — I — I  don't  know  what  to  do  about 
it.  You  see  Mr.  Mayhew  says — 

"But  I  say  it's  all  right,"  Floyd  broke  in,  as  he 
laid  his  hand  softly  on  her  shoulder.  "Go  down  in 
front  and  buy  what  you  need  to  run  on.  I'll 
assume  the  risk,  if  there  is  any." 

Mayhew  turned  suddenly ;  his  face  wore  a  fierce 
frown  and  his  thick  lip  shook. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Nelson,  that  you  are  going 
to  step  in  and— 

80 


Pole    Baker 

"Step  in  nothing!"  Floyd  said,  calmly.  "I  hope 
I  won't  have  to  remind  you,  sir,  of  our  clearly  written 
agreement  of  partnership,  in  which  it  is  plainly  stated 
that  I  may  use  my  judgment  in  regard  to  customers 
whenever  I  wish." 

"You'll  ruin  us — you'll  break  us  all  to  smash,  if 
you  do  this  sort  of  thing,"  Mayhew  panted.  "It 
will  upset  our  whole  system." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,  sir,"  Floyd  answered, 
tartly,  "but  we  won't  argue  about  it.  If  you  don't 
intend  to  abide  by  our  agreement,  then  say  so  and 
we  will  part  company." 

Mayhew  stared  in  alarm  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said: 

"There's  no  use  talking  about  parting.  I  only 
want  to  kind  of  hold  you  in  check.  You  get  your 
sympathies  stirred  up  and  make  plunges  sometimes 
when  you  ought  to  act  with  a  clear,  impartial  head. 
You  say  the  crop  looks  well ;  then  it's  all  right.  Go 
ahead,  Mrs.  Stark.  Anything  Nelson  does  is  agree 
able  to  me." 

"Well,  it's  mighty  good  of  you  both,"  the  old 
woman  said,  wiping  tears  of  joy  from  her  eyes. 
"  But  I  won't  buy  anything  to-day.  I'll  ride  out  to 
the  farm  as  quick  as  I  can  and  tell  Peter  the  good 
news.  He's  mighty  nigh  out  of  his  senses  about  it." 

Mayhew  followed  her  down  into  the  store.  It  was 
as  if  he  were  ashamed  to  meet  the  quizzical  look 
which  Pole  Baker  had  fixed  upon  him.  He  had  no 
sooner  turned  his  back  than  Pole  faced  Floyd,  his 
heavy  brows  drawn  together,  his  every  feature 
working  under  stress  of  deep  emotion. 

"They  say  the  Almighty  is  a  just  and  a  good 
81 


Pole     Baker 

God,"  Pole  said.  "  But  I'll  deny  it  all  the  rest  o'  my 
life  ef  He  lets  Jeff  Wade  shoot  down  sech  a  specimen 
o'  manhood  as  you  are  fer  jest  that  one  slip,  after — 
after,  I  say,  after  fillin'  you  with  the  fire  of  youth 
an'  puttin'  right  in  yore  track  a  gal  like  that  Minnie 
Wade,  with  a  pair  o'  dare-devil  eyes  an'  a  shape  that 
ud  make  a  Presbyterian  preacher — 

"Dry  up,  Pole!"  Floyd  cried,  suddenly.  "Don't 
forget  yourself  in  your  worry  about  me.  A  man 
is  always  more  to  blame  than  a  woman,  and  it's 
only  the  cowards  that  shirk  the  consequences." 

"  Well,  you  have  it  yore  way,  an'  I'll  have  it  mine," 
Pole  snorted.  "  What  both  of  us  think  hain't  got  a 
damn  thing  to  do  with  the  time  o'  day.  How  does 
she  stand  by  your  ticker?" 

Floyd  looked  at  his  watch.  "  It's  a  quarter-past 
eleven,"  he  said. 

"The  hell  it  is!"  Pole  went  to  the  back-door  and 
looked  out  at  the  dreary  stable-yard  and  barn.  He 
stood  there  for  several  minutes  in  deep  thought,  then 
he  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind  on  something  that 
was  troubling  him,  for  he  suddenly  thrust  his  hand 
into  his  hip-pocket,  turned  his  back  on  Floyd,  drew 
out  a  revolver,  and  rapidly  twirled  the  cylinder  with 
his  heavy  thumb. 

"  Yes,  I  'lowed  I'd  swore  off  from  shootin'-scrapes," 
he  mused;  "but  I  shore  have  to  git  in  this  un.  I'd 
never  look  Sally  an'  the  childern  in  the  face  ag'in  ef 
I  was  to  stand  still  an'  let  that  dead-shot  kill  the 
best  friend  me  an'  them  ever  had.  No,  Poley,  old 
boy,  you've  got  to  enlist  this  mornin',  an'  thar  hain't 
no  two  ways  about  it.  I'd  take  a  drink  on  it,  but  a 
feller's  aim  ain't  wuth  a  dang  when  he  sees  double." 

82 


Pole    Baker 

His  attention  was  suddenly  attracted  to  Floyd, 
who  had  left  his  stool  and  was  putting  a  revolver 
into  the  pocket  of  his  sack-coat.  Pole  shoved  his 
own  cautiously  back  into  his  pocket  and  went  to 
his  friend's  side. 

"What  you  goin'  to  do  now?"  he  asked. 

"  I  have  just  thought  of  something  that  ought  to 
be  attended  to,"  was  the  young  merchant's  answer. 
"  Is  Mel  Jones  still  down  there?" 

"Yes,  I  see  'im  now  through  the  left-hand  win 
dow,"  said  Pole.  "Do  you  want  to  speak  to 
'im?" 

"Yes."  Floyd  moved  in  the  direction  indicated, 
and  Pole  wonderingly  followed.  Outside  on  the 
pavement,  at  the  corner  of  the  store,  Jones  stood 
talking  to  a  group  of  eager  listeners.  He  stopped 
when  he  saw  Floyd  and  looked  in  the  opposite 
direction,  but  in  a  calm  voice  the  young  merchant 
called  him. 

"Mel,  may  I  see  you  a  minute?" 

"  Certainly."  The  face  of  the  gaunt  farmer  fell  as 
he  came  forward,  his  eyes  shifting  uneasily. 

"  I  got  a  message  from  Jeff  Wade  just  now," 
said  Floyd. 

"  Oh,  did  you? — is  that  so?"  the  fellow  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  he  says  he  has  a  private  matter  to  settle 
with  me,  and  says  he'll  be  here  at  the  store  at 
twelve.  Now,  as  you  see,  Mel,  there  are  a  good 
many  people  standing  around — women  and  children 
— and  somebody  might  get  hurt  or  frightened.  You 
know  where  Price's  spring  is,  down  behind  the  old 
brick-yard?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  where  it  is,  Floyd." 

83 


Pole    Baker 

"Well,  you  will  do  me  a  favor  if  you  will  ride  out 
to  Wade's  and  tell  him  I'll  meet  him  there.  He 
could  reach  it  without  coming  through  town,  and 
we'd  escape  a  lot  of  prying  people  who  would  only 
be  in  the  way." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Jones,  his  strong  face 
lighting  up.  "Yes,  I'll  go  tell  'im.  I'm  glad  to 
see  that  you  are  a  man  o'  backbone,  Floyd.  Some 
'lowed  that  you'd  throw  up  the  sponge  an'  leave 
fer  parts  unknown,  but  Jeff's  got  to  tackle  the  rale 
stuff.  I  kin  see  that,  Floyd.  Minnie's  raised  a  lots 
o'  devilment,  an'  my  wife  says  she  don't  blame  you 
one  bit,  but  Jeff  cayn't  be  expected  to  see  it  through 
a  woman's  eyes.  I  wish  you  was  goin'  to  meet  a 
man  that  wasn't  sech  a  dead-shot.  I  seed  Jeff  knock 
a  squirrel  out  of  a  high  tree  with  his  six-shooter  that 
three  men  had  missed  with  rifles." 

"I'll  try  to  take  care  of  myself,  Mel.  But  you'd 
better  hurry  up  and  get  to  him  before  he  starts  to 
town." 

"Oh,  I'll  git  'im  all  right,"  said  the  farmer,  and  he 
went  out  to  the  hitching-rack,  mounted  his  horse, 
and  galloped  away. 

The  group  Jones  had  been  talking  to  now  drew 
near. 

"It's  all  off,  boys!"  Pole  said,  with  one  of  his 
inscrutable  laughs.  "Explanations  an'  apologies 
has  been  exchanged — no  gore  to-day.  Big  mis 
take,  anyway,  all  round.  Big,  big  blunder." 

This  version  soon  spread,  and  a  sigh  of  relief  went 
up  from  all  sides.  Fifteen  minutes  passed.  Pole 
was  standing  in  the  front-door  of  the  store,  cautiously 
watching  Floyd,  who  had  gone  back  to  his  desk  to 

84 


Pole     Baker 

write  a  letter.  Suddenly  the  farmer  missed  him 
from  his  place. 

"He's  tryin'  to  give  me  the  slip,"  Pole  said. 
"  He's  gone  out  at  the  back-door  and  has  made  fer 
the  spring.  Well,  he  kin  think  he's  throwed  old  Pole 
off,  but  he  hain't  by  a  jugful.  I  know  now  which 
road  Jeff  Wade  will  come  by,  an'  I'll  see  'im  fust  ur 
no  prayers  hain't  answered." 

He  went  out  to  the  hitching-rack,  mounted,  and, 
waving  his  hand  to  the  few  bystanders  who  were 
eying  him  curiously,  he  rode  away,  his  long  legs 
swinging  back  and  forth  from  the  flanks  of  his  horse. 
A  quarter  of  a  mile  outside  of  the  village  he  came  to  a 
portion  of  the  road  leading  to  Jeff  Wade's  house  that 
was  densely  shaded,  and  there  he  drew  rein  and 
dismounted. 

"Thar  hain't  no  other  way  fer  'im  to  come,"  he 
said,  "an'  I'm  his  meat  or  he  is  mine — that  is,  unless 
the  dern  fool  kin  be  fetched  to  reason." 


VIII 

[HERE  was  a  quilting-party  at  Porter's 
that  day.  Cynthia  had  invited  some  of 
her  friends  to  help  her,  and  the  quilt, 
a  big  square  of  colored  scraps,  more  or 
less  artistically  arranged  in  stars,  cres 
cents,  and  floral  wreaths,  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
sitting-room.  It  was  stitched  to  a  frame  made  of 
four  smooth  wooden  bars  which  were  held  together 
at  the  corners  by  pegs  driven  into  gimlet-holes  and 
which  rested  on  the  backs  of  four  chairs.  The 
workers  sat  on  two  sides  of  it,  and  stitched  with  up 
ward  and  downward  strokes,  towards  the  centre, 
the  quilt  being  rolled  up  as  the  work  progressed. 

Hattie  Mayhew  was  there,  and  Kitty  Welborn, 
and  two  or  three  others.  As  usual,  they  were  teasing 
Cynthia  about  the  young  preacher. 

"I  know  he's  dead  in  love,"  laughed  Kitty  Wel 
born.  "He  really  can't  keep  from  looking  at  her 
during  preaching.  I  noticed  it  particularly  one 
Sunday  not  long  ago,  and  told  Matt  Digby  that  I'd 
be  sure  to  get  religion  if  a  man  bored  it  into  me  with 
big,  sad  eyes  like  his." 

"  I  certainly  would  go  up  to  the  mourners'  bench 
every  time  he  called  for  repentant  sinners,"  said 
Hattie  Mayhew.  "I  went  up  once  while  he  was 
exhorting,  and  he  didn't  even  take  my  hand.  He 

86 


Pole     Baker 

turned  me  over  to  Sister  Perdue,  that  snaggle- 
toothed  old  maid  who  always  passes  the  wine  at 
sacrament,  and  that  done  me." 

Cynthia  said  nothing,  but  she  smiled  good-nat 
uredly  as  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  went  to  the 
side  of  the  quilt  near  the  crudely  screened  fireplace 
to  see  that  the  work  was  rolled  evenly  on  the  frame. 
While  thus  engaged,  her  father  came  into  the  room, 
vigorously  fanning  himself  with  his  old  slouch  hat. 
The  girls  knew  he  had  been  to  the  village,  and  all 
asked  eagerly  if  he  had  brought  them  any  letters. 

"No,  I  clean  forgot  to  go  to  the  office,"  he  made 
slow  answer,  as  he  threw  himself  into  a  big  arm 
chair  with  a  raw-hide  bottom  near  a  window  on  the 
shaded  side  of  the  house. 

"Why,  father,"  his  daughter  chided  him,  "you 
promised  the  girls  faithfully  to  call  at  the  office. 
I  think  that  was  very  neglectful  of  you  when  you 
knew  they  would  be  here  to  dinner." 

"And  he  usually  has  a  good  memory,"  spoke  up 
Mrs.  Porter,  appearing  in  the  door-way  leading  to 
the  dining-room  and  kitchen.  She  was  rolling 
flakes  of  dough  from  her  lank  hands,  and  glanced  at 
her  husband  reprovingly.  "Nathan,  what  did  you 
go  and  do  that  way  for,  when  you  knew  Cynthia  was 
trying  to  make  her  friends  pass  a  pleasant  day?" 

"  Well,  I  clean  forgot  it,"  Porter  said,  quite  undis 
turbed.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  thar  was  so  much 
excitement  on  all  hands,  with  this  un  runnin'  in 
with  fresh  news,  an'  another  sayin'  that  maybe  it 
was  all  a  false  alarm ,  that  the  post-office  plumb 
slipped  out  o'  my  head.  Huh!  I  hain't  thought 
post-office  once  sense  I  left  here.  I  don't  know 

87 


Pole    Baker 

whether  I  could  'a'  got  waited  on,  anyway,  fer  the 
postmaster  hisse'f  was  runnin'  round  outside  like  a 
chicken  with  its  head  chopped  off.  Besides,  I  tell 
you,  gals,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  hit  the  grit.  I 
never  was  much  of  a  hand  to  want  to  see  wholesale 
bloodshed.  Moreover,  I've  heard  of  many  a  specta 
tor  a-gittin'  shot  in  the  arms  an'  legs  or  some  vital 
spot.  No,  I  sorter  thought  I'd  come  on.  Mandy, 
have  you  seed  anything  o'  my  fly -flap?  When 
company's  here  you  an'  Cynthia  jest  try  yoreselves 
on  seein'  how  many  things  you  kin  stuff  in  cracks  an' 
out-o'-way  places.  I'm  gittin'  sick  an'  tired  o'- 

" Nathan,  what's  going  on  in  town?"  broke  in 
Mrs.  Porter.  "What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"I  don't  know  what's  goin'  on  now,"  Porter 
drawled  out,  as  he  slapped  at  a  fly  on  his  bald  pate 
with  an  angry  hand.  "  I  say  I  don't  know  what's 
goin'  on  right  at  this  minute,  but  I  know  what  was 
jest  gittin'  ready  to  go  on  when  I  skipped.  I  reckon 
the  coroner's  goin'  on  with  the  inquest  ef  he  ain't 
af eared  of  an  ambush.  Jeff  Wade — "  Porter  sud 
denly  bethought  himself  of  something,  and  he  rose, 
passed  through  the  composite  and  palpable  stare 
of  the  whole  room,  and  went  to  the  clock  on  the 
mantel-piece  and  opened  it.  "Thar!"  he  said,  im 
patiently.  "  I  wonder  what  hole  you-uns  have 
stuck  my  chawin'-tobacco  in.  I  put  it  in  the  corner 
of  this  clock,  right  under  the  turpentine-bottle." 

"There's  your  fool  tobacco,"  Mrs.  Porter  ex 
claimed,  running  forward  and  taking  the  dark  plug 
from  beneath  the  clock.  "  Fill  your  mouth  with  it, 
maybe  it  will  unlock  your  jaw.  What  is  the  trouble 
at  Springtown?" 

88 


Pole     Baker 

"I  was  jest  startin'  to  tell  you,"  said  Porter, 
diving  into  his  capacious  trousers-pocket  for  his 
knife,  and  slowly  opening  the  blade  with  his  long 
thumb-nail.  "You  see,  Jeff  Wade  has  at  last  got 
wind  o'  all  that  gab  about  Minnie  an'  Nelson  Floyd, 
an'  he  sent  a  war-cry  by  Pole  Baker  on  hoss-back 
as  fast  as  Pole  could  clip  it  to  tell  Floyd  to  arm  an' 
be  ready  at  exactly  twelve  o'clock,  sharp." 

"  I  knew  it  would  come,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  a  com 
bination  of  finality  and  resignation  in  her  harsh 
voice.  "  I  knew  Jeff  Wade  wasn't  going  to  allow 
that  to  go  on."  She  was  looking  at  her  daughter, 
who,  white  and  wide-eyed,  stood  motionless  behind 
Hattie  Mayhew's  chair.  For  a  moment  no  one 
spoke,  though  instinctively  the  general  glance  went 
to  Cynthia,  who,  feeling  it,  turned  to  the  window 
looking  out  upon  the  porch,  and  stood  with  her 
back  to  the  room.  Mrs.  Porter  broke  the  silence, 
her  words  directed  to  her  daughter. 

"Jeff  Wade  will  kill  that  man  if  he  was  fool 
enough  to  wait  and  meet  him.  Do  you  think  Floyd 
waited,  Nathan?" 

"No,  he  didn't  wait,"  was  Porter's  answer.  "The 
plucky  chap  went  'im  one  better.  He  sent  word 
by  Mel  Jones  to  Wade  that  it  would  be  indecent  to 
have  a  rumpus  like  that  in  town  on  a  Saturday, 
when  so  many  women  an'  childern  was  settin' 
round  in  bullet-range,  an'  so  if  it  was  agreeable  he'd 
ruther  have  it  in  the  open  place  at  Price's  Spring. 
Mel  passed  me  as  he  was  goin'  to  Jeff  with  that  word. 
It's  nearly  one  o'clock  now,  an'  it's  my  candid 
opinion  publicly  expressed  that  Nelson  Floyd  has 
gone  to  meet  a  higher  power.  I  didn't  want  to  be 

89 


Pole     Baker 

hauled  up  at  court  as  a  witness,  an'  so,  as  I  say,  I 
hit  the  grit.  I've  been  tied  up  in  other  folks's 
matters  before  this,  an'  the  court  don't  allow 
enough  fer  witness-fees  to  tempt  me  to  set  an'  listen 
to  them  long-winded  lawyers  talk  fer  a  whole  week 
on  a  stretch." 

"Poor  fellow!"  exclaimed  Hattie  Mayhew.  "  I'm 
right  sorry  for  him.  He  was  so  handsome  and  sweet- 
natured.  He  had  faults  and  bad  ones,  if  what  folks 
say  is  true,  but  they  may  have  been  due  to  the  hard 
life  he  had  when  he  was  a  child.  I  must  say  I  have 
always  been  sorry  for  him;  he  had  the  saddest  look 
about  the  eyes  of  any  human  being  I  ever  saw." 

"And  he  knew  how  to  use  his  eyes,  too,"  was 
the  sting  Mrs.  Porter  added  to  this  charitable  com 
ment,  while  her  sharp  gaze  still  rested  on  her 
daughter. 

There  was  a  sound  at  the  window.  Cynthia,  with 
unsteady  hands,  was  trying  to  raise  the  sash.  She 
finally  succeeded  in  doing  this,  and  in  placing  the 
wooden  prop  under  it.  There  was  a  steely  look 
in  her  eyes  and  her  features  were  rigidly  set,  her  face 
pale. 

"It's  very  warm  in  here,"  they  heard  her  say. 
"There  isn't  a  bit  of  draught  in  this  room.  It's 
that  hot  cook-stove.  Mother,  I  will — I — " 

She  turned  and  walked  from  the  room.  Mrs. 
Porter  sighed,  as  she  nodded  knowingly  and  looked 
after  the  departing  form. 

"Did  you  notice  her  face,  girls?"  she  asked.  "It 
was  as  white  as  death  itself.  She  looked  as  if  she 
was  about  to  faint.  It's  all  this  talk  about  Floyd. 
Well,  they  were  sort  of  friends.  I  tried  to  get  her 

90 


Pole    Baker 

to  stop  receiving  his  attentions,  but  she  thought 
she  knew  better.  Well,  he  has  got  his  deserts,  I 
reckon." 

"And  all  on  account  of  that  silly  Minnie  Wade," 
cried  Kitty  Welborn,  "when  you  know,  as  well  as  I 
do,  Mrs.  Porter,  that  Thad  Pelham — "  The  speaker 
glanced  at  Nathan  Porter,  and  paused. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  let  up  on  yore  hen-cackle  on  my 
account,"  that  blunt  worthy  made  haste  to  say. 
"  I'll  go  out  an'  look  at  my  new  hogs.  You  gals  are 
out  fer  a  day  o'  pleasure,  an'  I  wouldn't  interfere 
with  the  workin'  of  yore  jaws  fer  a  purty." 

Mrs.  Porter  didn't  remain  to  hear  Kitty  Welborn 
finish  her  observation,  but  followed  her  daughter. 
In  the  dining-room,  adjoining,  an  old  woman  sat  at  a 
window.  She  was  dressed  in  dingy  black  calico,  her 
snowy  hair  brushed  smoothly  down  over  a  white, 
deeply  wrinkled  brow,  and  was  fanning  herself 
feebly  with  a  turkey  -  feather  fan.  She  had  Mrs. 
Porter's  features  and  thinness  of  frame. 

"Mother,"  Mrs.  Porter  said,  pausing  before  her, 
"didn't  Cynthia  come  in  here  just  now?" 

"Yes,  she  did,"  replied  the  old  woman,  sharply. 
"  She  did.  And  I  just  want  to  know,  Mandy,  what 
you  all  have  been  saying  to  her  in  there.  I  want  to 
know,  I  say." 

"We  haven't  been  saying  anything  to  her,  as  I 
know  of,"  said  the  farmer's  wife,  in  slow,  studious 
surprise. 

"  I  know  you  have — I  say,  I  know  you  have!"  The 
withered  hand  holding  the  fan  quivered  in  excite 
ment.  "I  know  you  have;  I  can  always  tell  when 
that  poor  child  is  worried.  I  heard  a  little  of  it,  too, 
7  91 


Pole    Baker 

but  not  all.  I  heard  them  mention  Hillhouse's 
name.  I  tell  you,  I  am  not  going  to  sit  still  and  let 
a  whole  pack  of  addle-pated  women  tease  as  good 
a  girl  as  Cynthia  is  plumb  to  death." 

"I  don't  think  they  were  troubling  her,"  Mrs. 
Porter  said,  her  face  drawn  in  thought,  her  mind 
elsewhere. 

"I  know  they  were!"  the  old  woman  insisted. 
"  She  may  have  hidden  it  in  there  before  you  all,  but 
when  she  came  in  here  just  now  she  stopped  right 
near  me  and  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and  never 
since  she  was  a  little  baby  have  I  seen  such  an  odd 
look  in  her  eyes.  She  was  about  to  cry.  She  saw 
me  looking  at  her,  and  she  come  up  behind  me  and 
laid  her  face  down  against  my  neck.  She  quivered 
all  over,  and  then  she  said, '  Oh,  granny!  oh,  granny!' 
and  then  she  straightened  up  and  went  right  out  at 
that  door  into  the  yard.  I  tell  you,  it's  got  to  let  up. 
She  sha'n't  have  the  life  devilled  out  of  her.  If  she 
don't  want  to  marry  that  preacher,  she  don't  have  to. 
As  for  me,  I'd  rather  have  married  any  sort  of  man 
on  earth  when  I  was  young  than  a  long-legged, 
straight-faced  preacher." 

"You  say  she  went  out  in  the  yard?"  said  Mrs. 
Porter,  absently.  "  I  wonder  what  she  went  out 
there  for." 

Mrs.  Porter  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out. 
There  was  a  clothes-line  stretched  between  two 
apple-trees  near  by,  and  Cynthia  stood  at  it  taking 
down  a  table-cloth.  She  turned  with  it  in  her  arms 
and  came  to  her  mother. 

"I  just  remembered,"  she  said,  "that  there  isn't 
a  clean  cloth  for  the  table.  Mother,  the  iron  is  hot 

92 


Pole    Baker 

on  the  stove.  You  go  back  to  the  girls  and  I'll 
smooth  this  out  and  set  the  table." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  met.  Mrs.  Porter  took  a  deep 
breath.  "All  right,"  she  said.  "  I'll  go  back  to  the 
company,  but  I've  got  something  to  say,  and  then 
I'm  done  for  good.  I  want  to  say  that  I'm  glad  a 
daughter  of  mine  has  got  the  proper  pride  and  spunk 
you  have.  I  see  you  are  not  going  to  make  a  goose 
of  yourself  before  visitors,  and  I'm  proud  of  you. 
You  are  the  right  sort — especially  after  he's  acted 
in  the  scandalous  way  he  has,  and — and  laid  you, 
even  as  good  a  girl  as  you,  liable  to  be  talked  about 
for  keeping  company  with  him." 

The  girl's  eyes  sank.  Something  seemed  to  rise 
and  struggle  up  within  her,  for  her  breast  heaved 
and  her  shoulders  quivered  convulsively. 

"  I'll  fix  the  cloth,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  forced  voice, 
"and  then  I'll  set  the  table  and  call  you." 

"  All  right."  Mrs.  Porter  was  turning  away.  "  I'll 
try  to  keep  them  entertained  till  you  come  back." 


IX 


(ENEATH  a  big  oak  Pole  stood  holding 
his  bridle-rein  and  waiting,  his  earnest 
gaze  on  the  long  road  leading  to  Jeff 
Wade's  farm.  Suddenly  he  descried  a 
i  cloud  of  dust  far  ahead,  and  chuckled. 
"He's  certainly  on  time,"  he  mused.  "He  must 
'a'  had  his  hoss  already  hitched  out  in  the  thicket. 
Mel  made  good  time,  too.  The  dern  scamp  wants 
to  see  bloodshed.  Mel's  that  sort.  By  gum!  that 
hain't  Wade ;  it's  Mel  hisse'f ,  an'  he's  certainly  layin' 
the  lash  to  his  animal." 

In  a  gallop,  Jones  bore  down  on  him,  riding  as 
recklessly  as  a  cowboy,  his  broad  hat  in  one  hand, 
a  heavy  switch  in  the  other.  He  drew  rein  when 
he  recognized  Baker. 

"  Did  you  deliver  that  message  ?"  Pole  questioned. 
"  Oh  yes,  I  finally  got  him  alone ;  his  wife  seems  to 
suspicion  some'n,  and  she  stuck  to  'im  like  a  leech. 
She's  a  jealous  woman,  Pole,  an'  I  don't  know  but 
what  she  kinder  thought  Jeff  was  up  to  some  o'  his 
old  shines.  She's  in  a  family-way,  an'  a  little  more 
cranky  than  common.  He  was  a  sorter  tough  nut 
before  he  married,  you  know,  an'  a  man  like  that 
will  do  to  watch." 

"Well,  what  did  he  say?"  Pole  asked,  as  indif 
ferently  as  his  impatience  would  allow. 

94 


Pole    Baker 

"  Why,  he  said, '  All  hunkeydory.'  The  spring  plan 
ketched  him  jest  right.  He  said  that  one  thing — o' 
bloodyin'  up  the  main  street  in  town — had  bothered 
him  more  than  anything  else.  He  admired  it  in 
Floyd,  too.  Jeff  said:  'By  gum!  fer  a  town  dude, 
that  feller's  got  more  backbone  than  I  expected.-- 
He's  a  foe  wuth  meetin',  an'  I  reckon  killin'  'im 
won't  be  sech  a  terrible  disgrace  as  I  was  afeard  it 
mought  be.' ' 

"But  whar  are  you  headin'  fer  in  sech  a  rush?" 
Pole  asked. 

Jones  laughed  slyly  as  he  put  his  hat  carefully  on 
his  shaggy  head  and  pressed  the  broad  brims  up  on 
the  sides  and  to  a  point  in  front.  "Why,  Pole,"  he 
answered,  "to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  headed  fer 
that  thar  spring.  I'm  goin'  to  acknowledge  to  you 
that,  as  long  as  I've  lived  in  this  world,  I  hain't 
never  been  on  hand  at  a  shootin'-scrape.  Mighty 
nigh  every  man  I  know  has  seed  oodlin's  of  'em,  but 
my  luck's  been  agin  me.  I  was  too  young  to  be  in 
the  war,  an'  about  the  most  excitin'  thing  I  ever  at 
tended  was  a  chicken- fight,  and  so  I  determined  to 
see  this  through.  I  know  a  big  rock  jest  above  the 
spring,  and  I'm  a-goin'  to  git  thar  in  plenty  o'  time. 
You  let  me  git  kivered  all  but  my  eyes,  an'  I'll  run 
the  resk  o'  gettin'  hit  from  thar  up.  Whar  you 
makin'  fer,  Pole?" 

"Me?  Oh,  I'm  on  the  way  home,  Mel.  I  seed 
the  biggest  rattlesnake  run  across  this  road  jest  now 
I  ever  laid  eyes  on.  I  got  down  to  settle  his  hash, 
but  I  didn't  have  anything  to  hit  'im  with,  an'  I'm 
done  stompin'  on  them  fellers  sence  Tobe  Baker,  my 
cousin,  over  at  Hillbend,  got  bliffed  in  the  knee-j'int." 

95 


Pole    Baker 

"  Well,  so  long, ' '  Jones  laughed.  "  I'll  hunt  rattle 
snakes  some  other  time.  Are  you  plumb  shore  you 
hain't  got  the  jimmies  ag'in,  Pole?  Take  my  ad 
vice  an'  don't  tell  anybody  about  seein'  snakes;  it 
sets  folks  to  thinkin'.  Why,  I  seed  you  once  in 
broad  daylight  when  you  swore  black  spiders  was 
play  in'  sweepstakes  on  yore  shirt-front." 

"  So  long,  Mel,"  Pole  smiled.  He  made  a  fair  pre 
tence  at  getting  ready  to  mount  as  Jones  galloped 
away  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  rider  was  scarcely  out 
of  sight  when  a  pair  of  fine  black  horses  drawing 
a  buggy  came  into  view.  The  vehicle  contained 
Captain  Duncan  and  his  daughter  Evelyn.  She  was 
a  delicate,  rather  pretty  girl  of  nineteen  or  twenty, 
and  she  nodded  haughtily  to  Pole  as  her  father 
stopped  his  horses. 

"You  are  sure  that  thing's  off,  are  you,  Baker?" 
the  planter  said,  with  a  genial  smile. 

"Oh  yes,  captain."  Pole  had  his  eyes  on  the 
young  lady  and  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  stood 
awkwardly  swinging  it  against  the  baggy  knees  of 
his  rough  trousers. 

"Well,  I'm  very  glad,"  Duncan  said.  "I  heard 
you'd  told  some  of  the  crowd  back  at  the  store  that 
it  had  been  settled,  but  I  didn't  know  whether  the 
report  was  reliable  or  not." 

Pole's  glance  shifted  between  plain  truth  and 
Evelyn  Duncan's  refined  face  for  a  moment,  and 
then  he  nodded.  "Oh  yes,  it  was  all  a  mistake, 
captain.  Reports  get  out,  you  know;  and  nothin' 
hain't  as  bad  as  gossip  is  after  it's  crawled  through 
a  hundred  mouths  an'  over  a  hundred  envious 
tongues." 

96 


Pole     Baker 

"Well,  I'm  glad,  as  I  say,"  the  planter  said,  and 
he  jerked  his  reins  and  spoke  to  his  horses. 

As  he  whirled  away,  Pole  growled.  "Derned  ef  I 
hain't  a-makin'  a  regular  sign-post  out  o'  myself," 
he  mused,  "an'  lyin'  to  beat  the  Dutch.  Ef  that 
blasted  fool  don't  hurry  on  purty  soon  I'll — but 
thar  he  is  now,  comin'  on  with  a  swoop.  His  hoss 
is  about  to  run  from  under  'im,  his  dern  legs  is  so 
long.  Now,  looky'  here,  Pole  Baker,  Esquire,  hog- 
thief  an'  liar,  you  are  up  agin  about  the  most 
serious  proposition  you  ever  tackled,  an'  ef  you  don't 
mind  what  you  are  about  you'll  have  cold  feet  inside 
o'  ten  minutes  by  the  clock.  You've  set  in  to  carry 
this  thing  through  or  die  in  the  attempt,  an'  time's 
precious.  The  fust  thing  is  to  stop  the  blamed 
whelp;  you  cay  n't  reason  with  a  man  that's  flyin' 
through  the  air  like  he's  shot  out  of  a  gun,  an' 
Jeff  Wade's  a-goin'  to  be  the  devil  to  halt.  He's 
got  the  smell  o'  blood,  an'  that  works  on  a  mad 
man  jest  like  it  does  on  a  bloodhound — he's  a-goin' 
to  run  some'n  down.  The  only  thing  in  God's 
world  that  '11  stop  a  man  in  that  fix  is  to  insult 
'im,  an'  I  reckon  I'll  have  that  to  do  in  this 
case." 

Jeff  Wade  was  riding  rapidly.  Just  before  he 
reached  Pole  he  drew  out  his  big,  silver,  open-faced 
watch  and  looked  at  it.  He  wore  no  coat  and  had 
on  a  gray  flannel-shirt,  open  at  the  neck.  Round 
his  waist  he  wore  a  wide  leather  belt,  from  which, 
on  his  right  side,  protruded  the  glittering  butt  of  a 
revolver  of  unusual  size  and  length  of  barrel.  Sud 
denly  Pole  led  his  own  horse  round  until  the  animal 
stood  directly  across  the  narrow  road,  rendering  it 

97 


Pole     Baker 

impossible  for  the  approaching  rider  to  pass  at  the 
speed  he  was  going. 

"Hold  on  thar,  Jeff!"  Pole  held  up  his  hand. 
"Whar  away?  The  mail-hack  hain't  in  yet.  I've 
jest  left  town." 

"I  hain't  goin'  after  no  mail!"  Wade  said,  his 
lips  tight,  a  fixed  stare  in  his  big,  earnest  eyes. 
"  I'm  headed  fer  Price's  Spring.  I'm  goin'  to  put  a 
few  holes  in  that  thar  Nelson  Floyd,  ef  I  git  the 
drap  on  him  'fore  he  does  on  me." 

"Huh!"  Pole  ejaculated;  "no,  you  hain't  a-goin' 
to  see  him,  nuther — that  is,  not  till  me  'n  you've  had 
a  talk,  Jeff  Wade.  You  seem  in  a  hurry,  but  thar's 
a  matter  betwixt  me  an'  you  that's  got  to  be  attend 
ed  to." 

"  What  the  hell  d'  you  mean  ?"  Wade  demanded,  a 
stare  of  irritated  astonishment  dawning  in  his  eyes. 

"Why,  I  mean  that  Nelson  Floyd  is  a  friend  o' 
mine,  an'  he  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  shot  down  like  a  dog 
by  a  man  that  could  hit  a  nickel  a  hundred  yards 
away  nine  times  out  o'  ten.  You  an'  me's  face  to 
face,  an'  I  reckon  chances  'ud  be  somewhar  about 
equal.  I  hain't  a  brag  shot,  but  I  could  hit  a  pouch 
as  big  as  yourn  is,  at  close  range,  about  as  easy  as 
you  could  me." 

"You — you — by  God!  do  you  mean  to  take  this 
matter  up?" 

Jeff  Wade  slid  off  his  horse  and  stood  facing  Pole. 

"Yes,  I  do,  Jeff  —  that  is,  unless  you'll  listen  to 
common-sense.  That's  what  I'm  here  fer.  I'm  a- 
goin'  to  stuff  reason  into  you  ef  I  have  to  make  a 
hole  to  put  it  in  at.  You  are  a-goin'  entirely  too 
fast  to  live  in  an  enlightened  Christian  age.  an'  I'm 


Pole     Baker 

here  to  call  a  halt.  I've  got  some  things  to  tell 
you.  They  are  a-goin'  to  hurt  like  pullin'  eye-teeth, 
an'  you  may  draw  yore  gun  before  I'm  through,  but 
I'm  goin'  to  make  a  try  at  it." 

"What  the  hell  do  you—" 

"Hold  on,  hold  on,  hold  on,  Jeff!"  Pole  raised  a 
warning  hand.  "  Keep  that  paw  off'n  that  cannon 
in  yore  belt  or  thar'll  be  a  war  right  here  before  you 
hear  my  proclamation  of  the  terms  we  kin  both  live 
under.  Jeff,  I  am  yore  neighbor  an'  friend  I  love 
you  mighty  nigh  like  a  brother,  but  I'm  here  to  tell 
you  that,  with  all  yore  grit  an'  good  qualities,  you 
are  makin'  a  bellowin'  jackass  o'  yourself.  An'  ef 
I  let  you  put  through  yore  present  plans,  you'll  weep 
in  repentance  fer  it  till  you  are  let  down  in  yore 
soggy  grave.  Thar's  two  sides  to  every  question, 
an'  you  are  lookin'  only  at  yore  side  o'  this  un.  You 
cay  n't  tell  how  sorry  I  am  about  havin'  to  take  this 
step.  I've  been  a  friend  to  yore  entire  family — to 
yore  brothers,  an'  yore  old  daddy,  when  he  was  alive. 
I  mighty  nigh  swore  a  lie  down  in  Atlanta  to  keep 
him  out  o'  limbo,  when  he  was  arrested  fer  moon- 
shinin'." 

"I  know  all  that!"  growled  Wade;  "but,  damn  it, 
you — 

"Hold  yore  taters,  now,  an'  listen.  You  mought 
as  well  take  yore  mind  off'n  that  spring.  You 
hain't  a-goin'  to  git  at  Nelson  Floyd  without  you 
walk  over  my  dead  body — an'  thar's  no  efs  an' 
an's  about  that.  You  try  to  mount  that  hoss,  an' 
I'll  kill  you  ef  it's  in  my  power.  I  say  I've  got 
some'n  to  tell  you  that  you'll  wish  you'd  listened  to. 
I  know  some'n  about  Minnie  that  will  put  a  new 

99 


Pole    Baker 

color  on  this  whole  nasty  business;  an'  when  you 
know  it,  ef  you  kill  Nelson  Floyd  in  cold  blood  the 
law  will  jerk  that  stiff  neck  o'  your'n — jerk  it  till 
it's  limber." 

"You  say  you  know  some'n  about  Minnie?" 
The  gaunt  hand  which  till  now  had  hovered  over 
the  butt  of  the  big  revolver  hung  straight  down. 
Wade  stood  staring,  his  lip  hanging  loose,  a  sudden 
droop  of  indecision  upon  him. 

"I  know  this  much,  Jeff,"  Pole  said,  less  sharply, 
"  I  know  you  are  not  on  the  track  o'  the  fust  offender 
in  that  matter,  an'  when  I  prove  that  to  you  I  don't 
believe  you'll  look  at  it  the  same." 

"You  say — you  say — 

"  Listen  now,  Jeff,  an'  don't  fly  off  the  handle  at  a 
well-wisher  say  in'  what  he  thinks  has  to  be  said  in 
justice  to  all  concerned.  The  truth  is,  you  never 
seed  Minnie  like  other  folks  has  all  along.  You  seed 
'er  grow  up  an'  she  was  yore  pet.  To  you  she  was  a 
regular  angel,  but  other  folks  has  knowed  all  along, 
Jeff,  that  she  was  born  with  a  sorter  light  nature. 
Women  folks,  with  the'r  keen  eyes,  has  knowed  that 
ever  since  she  got  out  o'  short  dresses.  Even  yore 
own  wife  has  said  behind  yore  back  a  heap  on  this 
line  that  she  was  afeard  to  say  to  your  face.  Not  a 
soul  has  dared  to  talk  plain  to  you,  an'  even  / 
wouldn't  do  it  now  except  in  this  case  o'  life  an' 
death." 

Wade  shook  back  his  long,  coarse  hair.  He  was 
panting  like  a  tired  dog.  "  I  don't  believe  a  damn 
word  of  what  you  are  a-sayin,"  he  muttered,  "an' 
I'll  make  you  prove  it,  by  God,  or  I'll  have  yore  life- 
blood!" 

IOO 


Pole    Baker 

"Listen  to  me,  Jeff,"  Pole  said,  gently.  "I'm 
not  goin'  to  threaten  any  more.  Believe  me  or  not, 
but  listen.  You  remember  when  Thad  Pelham  went 
off  to  Mexico  a  year  or  so  ago?" 

Wade  made  no  reply,  but  there  was  a  look  of 
groping  comprehension  in  his  great,  blearing  eyes. 

' '  I  see  you  remember  that , "  Pole  went  on .  "  Well , 
you  know,  too,  that  he  was  goin'  with  Minnie  a  lot 
about  that  time — takin'  her  buggy-ridin'  an'  to  meet- 
in'.  He  was  a  devil  in  pants,  Jeff — his  whole  family 
was  bad.  The  men  in  it  would  refuse  the  last  call 
to  go  in  at  the  gate  o'  heaven  ef  a  designin'  woman 
was  winkin'  at  'em  on  the  outside.  Well,  Thad 
started  fer  Mexico  one  day,  an'  at  the  same  time 
Minnie  went  on  a  visit  to  yore  brother  Joe  in  Cal- 
houn." 

"She  went  thar  a  year  ago,"  Wade  put  in,  "fer  I 
bought  'er  ticket  myself  at  Darley." 

"  She  told  you  she  went  to  Calhoun."  Pole's  eyes 
were  mercifully  averted.  "Jeff,  I  met  her  an'  Thad 
down  in  Atlanta." 

Wade  caught  his  breath.  He  shook  from  head  to 
foot  as  with  a  chill. 

"You  say — Pole,  you  say — " 

"  Yes,  I  met  'em  comin'  out  o'  the  Globe  Hotel — 
that  little  resort  jest  off'n  Decatur  Street.  They 
was  comin'  out  o'  the  side-door,  an'  me  an'  them 
met  face  to  face.  Minnie,  she  turned  as  white  as  a 
sheet,  but  Thad  sorter  laughed  like  it  was  a  good 
joke,  an'  winked  at  me.  I  bowed  to  'em  an'  passed 
on,  but  I  seed  'em  lookin'  back,  an'  then  they 
motioned  to  me  to  stop,  an'  they  come  to  me. 
Minnie  set  in  to  cryin'  an'  begun  tellin'  me  not  to 

101 


Pole    Baker 

take  the  news  back  home — that  her  an'  Thad  loved 
each  other  so  much  she  jest  had  to  play  the  trick  on 
you  an'  go  as  fur  as  Atlanta  with  'im.  She  said  he 
was  comin'  back  after  he  got  located,  an'  that  they 
was  goin'  to  git  decently  married  an'  so  on.  An' 
that  devilish  Thad  smiled  an'  sorter  pulled  his  cheek 
down  from  his  left  eye  an'  said,  'Yes,  Pole,  we  are 
a-goin'  to  git  married.  That  is,  when  the  proper 
times  comes.' ' 

A  sigh  escaped  Jeff  Wade's  tense  lips. 

"  Are  you  plumb  shore  the  two  done  wrong  down 
thar,  Baker?"  he  asked. 

Pole  pulled  his  mustache  and  looked  at  the  ground. 
A  smile  dawned  and  died  on  his  face. 

"Well,  I  reckon  they  wasn't  down  thar  to  attend 
a  Sunday-school  convention,  Jeff.  They  didn't  have 
that  look  to  me.  But  I  was  so  worried  fer  fear  I 
mought  be  doin'  a  woman  injustice  in  my  mind,  that, 
after  they  left  me,  to  make  sure,  I  went  in  the 
office  o'  the  hotel.  The  clerk  was  standin'  thar 
doin'  nothin',  an'  so  I  axed  'im  who  that  young 
couple  was  that  had  jest  gone  out,  an'  he  laughed  an' 
said  they  was  a  newly  married  pair  from  up  in  the 
mountains — 'Mr.  an'  Mrs.  Sam  Buncombe,'  an'  he 
showed  me  whar  Thad  had  writ  the  names  in  his 
scrawlin'  hand-write  on  the  book.  The  clerk  said 
that  fer  a  freshly  linked  couple  they  headed  off 
any  he'd  ever  had  in  his  bridal-chamber.  He  said 
they  was  orderin'  some  sort  o'  drink  every  minute  in 
the  day,  an'  that  they  made  so  much  racket  over 
head  that  he  had  to  stop  'em  several  times.  He 
said  they  danced  jigs  an'  sung  nigger  songs.  He 
said  he'd  never  married  hisse'f — that  he'd  always 

IO2 


Pole    Baker 

been  afeard  to  make  the  riffle,  but  that  ef  he  could 
be  shore  matrimony  was  like  that,  that  he'd  find 
him  a  consort  'fore  sundown  or  break  his  neck 
tryin'." 

Suddenly  Wade  put  out  his  hand  and  laid  it 
heavily  on  Pole's  shoulder.  "  Looky'  here,  Baker," 
he  said,  "if  you  are  lying  to  me,  I — " 

"Hold  on,  hold  on,  Jeff  Wade!"  Pole  broke  in 
sternly.  "  When  you  use  words  like  them  don't  you 
look  serious !  So  fur,  this  has  been  a  friendly  talk, 
man  to  man,  as  I  see  it ;  but  you  begin  to  intimate 
that  I'm  a  liar,  an'  I'll  try  my  best  to  make  you 
chaw  the  statement.  You're  excited,  but  you  must 
watch  whar  yore  a-walkin'." 

"  Well,  I  want  the  truth,  by  God,  I  want  the  truth!" 

"Well,  you  are  a-gittin'  it,  with  the  measure 
runnin'  over,"  Pole  said,  "an'  that  ought  to  satisfy 
any  reasonable  man." 

"So  you  think,  then,  that  Nelson  Floyd  never 
done  any — any  o'  the  things  folks  says  he  did — that 
trip  to  the  circus  at  Darley,  when  Minnie  said  she 
was  stayin'  all  night  with  the  Halsey  gals  over  the 
mountains — that  was  just  report?" 

"Well,  I  ain't  here  to  say  that,  nuther,"  said 
Pole,  most  diplomatically.  "  Nelson  Floyd  ain't  any 
more'n  human,  Jeff.  His  wings  hain't  sprouted— 
at  least,  they  ain't  big  enough  to  show  through 
his  clothes.  He's  like  you  used  to  be  before  you 
married  an'  quit  the  turf,  only — ef  I'm  any  judge — 
you  was  a  hundred  times  wuss.  Ef  all  the  men 
concerned  in  this  county  was  after  you  like  you  are 
after  Nelson  Floyd,  they'd  be  on  yore  track  wuss'n 
a  pack  o'  yelpin'  wolves." 

103 


Pole     Baker 

"Oh,  hell!  let  up  on  me  an'  what  I've  done!  I 
kin  take  care  o'  myself,"  Wade  snarled. 

"All  right,  Jeff,"  Pole  laughed.  "I  was  only 
drappin'  them  hints  on  my  way  to  my  point.  Well, 
Minnie  she  come  back  from  Atlanta,  an'  fer  three 
whole  days  she  looked  to  me  like  she  missed  Thad, 
but  she  got  to  goin'  with  the  Thornton  boys,  an' 
then  Nelson  Floyd  run  across  her  track.  I  ain't 
here  to  make  excuses  fer  'im,  but  she  was  every  bit  as 
much  to  blame  as  he  was.  He's  been  around  some, 
an'  has  enough  sense  to  git  in  out  o'  the  rain,  an' 
I  reckon  he  had  his  fun,  or  he  wouldn't  be  a-settin' 
at  Price's  Spring  waitin'  to  meet  death  at  the  end  o' 
that  gun  o'  yourn." 

Jeff  Wade  turned  an  undecided,  wavering  glance 
upon  the  towering  mountain  on  his  right.  He  drew 
a  deep  breath  and  seemed  about  to  speak,  but 
checked  himself. 

"But  la  me!  what  a  stark,  ravin'  fool  you  was 
about  to  make  o'  yoreself,  Jeff!"  Pole  went  on. 
"You  started  to  do  this  thing  to-day  on  yore  sister's 
account,  when  by  doin'  it  you  would  bust  up  her 
home  an'  make  the  rest  of  her  life  miserable." 

"You  mean—" 

"  I  mean  that  Joe  Mitchell,  that's  been  dead-stuck 
on  Minnie  sence  she  was  a  little  gal,  set  up  to  her 
an'  proposed  marriage.  They  got  engaged,  an'  then 
every  old  snaggle-toothed  busybody  in  these  moun 
tains  set  in  to  try  to  bust  it  up  by  totin'  tales  about 
Floyd  an'  others  to  'im.  As  fast  as  one  would  come, 
Minnie'd  kill  it,  an'  show  Joe  what  a  foolish  thing  it 
was  to  listen  to  gossip,  an'  Joe  finally  told  'em  all 
to  go  to  hell,  an'  they  was  married,  an'  moved  on  his 

104 


Pole     Baker 

farm  in  Texas.  From  all  accounts,  they  are  doin' 
well  an'  are  happy,  but,  la  me!  they  wouldn't  be 
that  away  long  ef  you'd  'a'  shot  Nelson  Floyd  this 
mornin'." 

"You  say  they  wouldn't,  Pole?" 

"  Huh,  I  reckon  you  wouldn't  dance  a  jig  an'  sing 
hallelujah  ef  you  was  to  pick  up  a  newspaper  this 
mornin'  an'  read  in  type  a  foot  long  that  yore  wife's 
brother,  in  another  state,  had  laid  a  man  out  stiff 
as  a  board  fer  some'n'  that  had  tuck  place  sometime 
back  betwixt  the  man  an'  her." 

"Huh!"  Wade's  glance  was  now  on  Pole's  face. 
"  Huh,  I  reckon  you  are  right,  Pole.  I  reckon  you 
are  right.  I  wasn't  thinkin'  about  that." 

"Thar  was  another  duty  you  wasn't  a-thinkin' 
about,  too,"  Pole  said.  "An'  that  is  yore  duty  to 
yore  wife  an'  childern  that  would  be  throwed  help 
less  on  the  world  ef  this  thing  had  'a'  tuck  place 
to-day." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  that,  anyway,"  said  Wade,  de 
jectedly. 

"  Well,  /  do,  Jeff.  You  see,  ef  you'd  'a'  gone  on 
an'  killed  Floyd,  after  I  halted  you,  I'd  'a'  been  a 
witness  agin  you,  an'  I'd  'a'  had  to  testify  that  I  told 
you,  in  so  many  words,  whar  the  rale  blame  laid,  an' 
no  jury  alive  would  'a'  spared  yore  neck." 

"I  reckon  that's  so,"  Wade  admitted.  "Well,  I 
guess  I'll  go  back,  Pole ;  I  won't  go  any  furder  with  it. 
I  promise  you  not  to  molest  that  scamp.  I'll  not 
trade  any  more  at  his  shebang,  an'  I'll  avoid  'im 
all  I  kin,  but  I'll  not  kill  'im  as  I  intended." 

"  Now  you're  a-talkin'  with  a  clear  head  an'  a  clean 
tongue."  Pole  drew  a  breath  of  relief,  and  stood 


Pole    Baker 

silent  as  Wade  pulled  his  horse  around,  put  his 
foot  into  the  heavy,  wooden  stirrup,  and  mounted. 
Pole  said  nothing  until  Wade  had  slowly  ridden 
several  paces  homeward,  then  he  called  out  to  him 
and  beckoned  him  back,  going  to  meet  him,  lead 
ing  his  horse. 

"  I  jest  thought  o'  some'n'  else,  Jeff — some'n'  I 
want  to  say  fer  myself.  I  reckon  I  won't  sleep 
sound  to-night  or  think  of  anything  the  rest  o'  the 
day  ef  I  don't  git  it  off  my  mind." 

"What's  that,  Pole?" 

"  Why,  I  don't  feel  right  about  callin'  you  to  halt 
so  rough  jest  now,  an'  talkin'  about  shootin'  holes  in 
you  an'  the  like,  fer  I  hain't  nothin'  agin  you,  Jeff. 
In  fact,  I'm  yore  friend  now  more  than  I  ever  was 
in  all  my  life.  I  feel  fer  you  way  down  inside  o'  me. 
That  look  on  yore  face  cuts  me  as  keen  as  a  knife. 
I — I  reckon,  Jeff,  you  sorter  feel  like — like  yore  little 
sister's  dead,  don't  you?" 

The  rough  face  looking  down  from  the  horse  filled. 
"  Like  she  was  dead  an'  buried,  Pole,"  Wade  answered. 

"  Well,  Jeff  "  —  Pole's  voice  was  husky  —  "  don't 
you  ever  think  o'  what  I  said  awhile  ago  about  shoot- 
in'.  Jeff,  I  jest  did  that  to  git  yore  attention.  You 
mought  a-blazed  away  at  me,  but  I'll  be  danged 
ef  I  believe  I  could  'a'  cocked  or  pulled  trigger  on 
you  to  'a'  saved  my  soul  from  hell." 

"Same  here,  old  neighbor,"  said  Wade,  as  he 
wiped  his  eyes  on  his  shirt-sleeve.  "  I  wouldn't  'a' 
tuck  them  words  from  no  other  man  on  the  face 
o'  God's  green  globe." 

When  Wade  had  ridden  slowly  away,  Pole  mount 
ed  his  own  horse. 

106 


Pole    Baker 

"Now  I'll  go  tell  Nelson  that  the  danger  is  over," 
he  said.  Suddenly,  however,  he  reined  his  horse  in 
and  sat  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  ground. 

"No,  I  won't,"  he  finally  decided.  "He  kin  set 
thar  an'  wonder  what's  up.  It  won't  hurt  him  to  be 
in  doubt,  dab  blame  his  hot-blooded  skin.  Thar  I 
was  in  a  hair's-breadth  of  eternity,  about  to  leave 
a  sweet  wife  an'  kids  to  starvation  an'  tumble  in  a 
bloody  grave,  jest  beca'se  a  rich  chap  like  he  is  had 
to  have  his  dirty  bout.  No,  Nelsy,  my  boy,  you 
look  old  Death  in  the  eye  fer  awhile ;  it  won't  do  you 
no  harm.  Maybe  it  '11  cool  you  off  a  little." 

And  Pole  Baker  rode  to  the  thicket  where  he  had 
hidden  his  bag  of  corn -meal  that  morning  and  took 
it  home. 


X 


I  HAT  afternoon,  for  Cynthia  Porter, 
dragged  slowly  along.  The  quilt  was 
finished,  duly  admired,  and  laid  away. 
The  visiting  girls  put  on  their  sun- 
bonnets  about  four  o'clock  and  went 
home.  No  further  news  had  come  from  the  village 
in  regard  to  the  impending  duel,  and  each  girl  hur 
ried  away  in  the  fluttering  hope  that  she  would  be 
the  first  to  hear  of  the  outcome. 

Fifty  times  during  the  remainder  of  the  after 
noon  Cynthia  went  to  the  front-door  to  see  if  any 
one  was  passing  from  whom  she  might  hear  what 
had  happened,  but  the  road  leading  by  the  house 
was  not  a  main-travelled  one,  and  she  saw  only  the 
shadows  fall  in  advance  of  the  long  twilight  and 
heard  the  dismal  lowing  of  the  cows  as  they  swag 
gered  homeward  from  the  pasture.  Then  it  was 
night,  and  with  the  darkness  a  great  weight  de 
scended  on  her  young  heart  that  nothing  could  lift. 
The  simple  supper  was  over  by  eight  o'clock. 
Her  father  and  mother  retired  to  their  room,  and 
she  went,  perforce,  to  hers.  Outside  the  still  night, 
with  its  pitiless  moonlight,  seemed  to  be  a  vast, 
breathless  thing  under  the  awful  consciousness  of 
tragedy,  deeper  than  the  mere  mystery  of  the 
grave.  Dead !  Nelson  Floyd  dead !  How  impossible 

108 


Pole     Baker 

a  thing  it  seemed,  and  yet  how  could  it  be  otherwise? 
She  threw  herself  on  her  bed  without  undressing, 
and  lay  there  staring  at  her  flickering  tallow-dip  and 
its  yellow,  beckoning  ghost  in  her  tilted  mirror. 
Suddenly  she  heard  a  step  in  the  hall.  It  was  a 
faint,  shuffling  one,  accompanied  by  the  soft  slurring 
of  a  hand  cautiously  sliding  along  the  wall.  The 
girl  sat  up  on  the  bed  wonderingly,  and  then  the 
door  was  softly  opened  and  her  grandmother  came 
in,  and  with  bent  form  advanced  to  her. 

"Sh!"  the  old  woman  said,  raising  a  warning 
hand.  "I  don't  want  your  ma  and  pa  to  know  I 
came  here,  darling.  They  wouldn't  understand  it. 
But  I  had  to  come ;  I  couldn't  sleep." 

"Oh,  granny,  you  oughtn't  to  be  up  this  way!" 
exclaimed  Cynthia.  "You  know  it  is  long  past 
your  bedtime." 

"I  know  that,  honey,  I  know  that,"  said  the  old 
woman;  "but  to  be  late  once  in  a  while  won't  hurt 
me.  Besides,  as  I  said,  I  couldn't  sleep,  anyway, 
and  so  I  came  in  to  you.  I  knew  you  were  wide 
awake — I  felt  that.  You  see,  honey,  your  ma  can't 
keep  anything — even  anything  she  wants  to  be 
silent  on  has  to  come  out,  sooner  or  later,  and  I  dis 
covered  what  was  the  matter  with  you  this  morning. 
You  see,  darling,  knowing  what  your  trouble  was, 
old  granny  felt  that  it  was  her  duty  to  try  to  comfort 
you  all  she  could." 

"Oh,  granny,  granny!"  cried  the  girl,  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands. 

"The  trouble  is,  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  con 
tinued  the  old  woman;  "but  I  thought  I'd  tell  you 
what  pride  will  do  sometimes,  when  anybody  calls 

109 


Pole    Baker 

in  its  aid.  If — if  what  they  all  think  is  so — if  the 
young  man  has  really  lost  his  life  in — in  a  matter  of 
such  a  questionable  nature,  then  your  womanly 
pride  ought  to  back  you  up  considerably.  I  have 
never  alluded  to  it,  Cynthia,  for  I  haven't  been 
much  of  a  hand  to  encourage  ideas  of  superiority 
in  one  person  over  another,  but  away  back  in  the 
history  of  the  Radcliffes  and  the  Cuylers  and  the 
Prestons,  who  were  our  kin  in  Virginia,  I've  been 
told  that  the  women  were  beautiful,  and  great  belles 
in  the  society  at  Richmond,  before  and,  after  the 
Revolution.  Why,  honey,  I  can  remember  my 
grandmother  telling  us  children  about  being  at  big 
balls  and  dinners  where  George  Washington  was 
entertained,  and  lords  and  ladies  of  the  old  country. 
I  was  too  young  to  understand  what  it  meant,  but  I 
remember  she  told  us  about  the  great  droves  of 
negroes  her  father  owned,  and  the  carriages  and 
silver,  and  the  big  grants  of  land  from  the  king  to 
him.  One  of  her  uncles  was  a  royal  governor,  whose 
wife  was  a  lady  of  high  title.  I  was  talking  to 
Colonel  Price  about  a  month  ago  at  the  veteran's 
meeting  at  Cohutta  Springs,  and  he  said  he  had 
run  across  a  family  history  about  the  Radcliffes 
where  it  said  all  of  them  came  down  from  the 
crowned  heads  of  England.  I  believe  he  was  right, 
putting  all  I  remember  to  what  he  said,  and,  lying 
in  bed  just  now,  it  struck  me  that  maybe  one  of 
those  ladies  away  back  there  would  not  let  a  tear 
drop  from  her  proud  eyes  over — over  a  young  man 
who  had  met  with  misfortune  as  a  consequence  of 
bad  conduct.  Ever  since  you  were  a  little  girl  I 
have  been  proud  of  your  looks,  honey.  You  have 


Pole    Baker 

fine,  delicate  features;  your  hands  are  small  and 
taper  to  the  end  of  the  fingers,  and  your  ankles  are 
slender  like  a  fine-blooded  race-horse,  and  your  feet 
have  high  insteps  and  are  pretty  in  shape.  We  are 
poor;  we  have  been  so  such  a  long  time  that  almost 
all  record  of  the  old  wealth  and  power  has  passed 
out  of  our  memory,  but  a  few  generations  of  poverty 
won't  kill  well-grounded  pride  and  dignity." 

"Oh,  granny,  granny,  you  needn't  talk  to  me 
so,"  Cynthia  said,  calmly.  "I  know  what  you 
mean,  and  you  sha'n't  be  ashamed  of  me.  I  promise 
you  that." 

"  I  believe  you,  Cynthia,  for  you  are  showing  self- 
respect  right  now.  Go  to  bed,  dear,  and  take  your 
mind  off  of  it.  I'm  going  now.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,  granny."  Cynthia  stood  up,  and 
with  her  arms  around  the  frail,  bowed  old  woman, 
she  tenderly  kissed  her  on  the  brow  and  led  her  to 
the  door." 

"Pride!"  she  muttered,  as  the  old  woman's  steps 
rang  in  the  corridor.  "  Pride  is  only  a  word.  This! 
this!" — she  struck  her  breast — "is  my  soul  under 
a  knife.  Why  did  I  sit  still  while  she  was  talking 
and  not  tell  her  that  he  was  good — good — as  good  a 
man  as  ever  drew  human  breath  ?  Why  didn't  I  tell 
her  what  Pole  Baker's  wife  told  me  about  his 
carrying  food  at  midnight  on  his  shoulder  (through 
the  swamp,  wet  to  his  waist)  to  her  and  the  children, 
when  Pole  was  off  on  a  spree — making  her  swear 
almost  on  a  Bible  that  she  never  would  tell?  And 
why  didn't  I  tell  her  what  Mrs.  Baker  said  about  his 
sitting  down  on  the  children's  bed  when  they  were 
asleep  and  talking  so  beautifully  about  their  futures, 

in 


Pole     Baker 

and  all  the  sadness  of  his  own  childhood  and  his 
anxiety  to  know  who  and  what  he  was?  What  if  he 
did  meet  that  Minnie  Wade,  and  she  and  he —  Oh, 
my  God!"  She  stood  staring  at  her  pale  face  in  her 
mirror,  and  then  tottered  back  to  the  bed  and  sank 
upon  it,  sitting  erect,  her  tense  hands  clutching  her 
knees,  as  if  for  support  against  some  invisible  torrent 
that  was  sweeping  her  away.  "Dead — oh!  and  for 
that  reason — he,  Nelson  Floyd!" 

Suddenly  a  sound  fell  on  her  ears.  She  sprang 
to  her  feet,  straining  her  hearing  to  catch  a  repetition 
of  it,  her  eyes  wide,  the  blood  of  new  life  bounding 
in  her  veins.  There  it  was  again,  the  soft,  mellow, 
insistent  call  of  the  whippoorwill  from  down  by  the 
grape-arbor.  For  a  moment  she  stood  still,  crying 
to  herself  with  an  inward  voice  that  had  no  sound : 
"Alive!  Alive!  Alive!"  Then  blowing  out  her 
candle,  she  sprang  to  the  door  of  her  chamber,  and 
opened  it,  and  passed  on  to  the  outer  one,  that  was 
never  locked,  and  which  opened  on  the  front  porch. 
But  there,  with  her  hand  on  the  knob,  she  paused, 
clutching  it  tightly,  but  not  turning  the  bolt. 
Alive ;  yes,  alive,  but  why  ?  how  could  it  be  unless — 
unless  he  had  killed  Jeff  Wade?  Ah,  that  wras  it — 
red-handed,  and  fleeing  from  the  arm  of  the  law  of 
man  and  God,  he  had  come  to  say  good-bye.  A 
memory  of  her  past  determination  never  to  meet 
him  clandestinely  flashed  through  her  brain,  but  it 
was  like  overhead  lightning  that  touches  nothing, 
only  warns  man  of  its  power  and  dies  away.  She 
turned  the  bolt  and  passed  out  into  the  night,  run 
ning,  it  seemed,  almost  with  the  dragging  feet  of 
one  in  a  nightmare,  towards  the  trysting-place. 

112 


Pole    Baker 

"Ah,  here  you  are!"  Nelson  Floyd  stood  in  the 
door- way  of  the  little  arbor,  his  arms  outstretched. 
She  allowed  him  to  catch  her  cold,  bloodless  hands 
and  lead  her  to  the  rustic  seat  within. 

They  sat  down  together.  She  felt  his  strong  arm 
encompass  her  but  had  not  the  strength  or  will  to 
resist.  He  pressed  his  cheek  down  on  her  cold  brow, 
then  his  lips,  and  clasped  one  of  her  hands  with  his 
big  warm  one.  Still  she  could  not  put  him  off.  It 
was  like  a  perplexing  dream.  There  was  the  horror, 
and  yet  here  was  vague  reassurance  that  at  once 
inspired  hope  and  benumbed  her. 

"What's  the  matter,  little  girl?"  he  asked,  ten 
derly.  "  I  declare  you  are  quivering  all  over." 

She  sat  up.  Pushing  him  back  from  her,  and 
twisting  her  hand  from  his  grasp,  she  looked  straight 
into  his  eyes. 

"Jeff  Wade!"  she  gasped.  "Jeff  Wade!— have 
you — did  you— 

"Oh,  I  see!"  he  laughed,  awkwardly.  "I  might 
have  known  you  would  hear  about  that.  But  never 
mind,  little  girl,  the  whole  of  it  was  gossip — there 
was  nothing  in  it!" 

"You  mean — oh,  Nelson,  you  say  that  you  and 
he  did  not— 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  laughed  again,  mechanically. 
"  Everybody  in  town  this  morning  was  declaring 
that  Jeff  Wade  was  going  to  kill  me  on  sight,  but  it 
wasn't  true.  I  haven't  seen  him  to-day." 

"Oh,  Nelson,  I  heard  that  he'd  actually  killed 
you." 

"  Killed  me?  Oh,  that's  a  good  joke!"  he  laughed. 
"  But  you  must  promise  me  never  again  to  pay  any 

"3 


Pole     Baker 

attention  to  such  stuff.  The  idea!  Why,  Cynthia, 
don't  you  know  better  than  to  believe  everything 
that  comes  by  word  of  mouth  in  this  section?  I'll 
bet  somebody  started  that  who  really  wanted  me 
out  of  the  way.  I've  got  enemies,  I  know  that." 

She  drew  herself  still  farther  from  him,  eying 
him  half  suspiciously  through  the  darkness.  Her 
lips  were  parted ;  she  was  getting  her  breath  rapidly, 
like  a  feverish  child. 

"But  he  was  mad  at  you,  I  know  that.  You 
need  not  tell  me  an  untruth." 

"A  man  is  almost  justifiable,"  he  laughed,  "  when 
he  wants  to  keep  such  dirty  stuff  from  young,  re 
fined  ears  like  yours.  Let's  not  talk  of  it  any  more, 
little  girl.  Why  spoil  this  delightful  meeting  with 
thoughts  of  such  things?  You  have  no  idea  how 
much  I've  wanted  to  see  you." 

"  Then  " — she  put  out  her  cold  hand  to  the  lattice 
work  and  drew  herself  up — "why  did  you  whistle 
for  me?  You  said  you'd — you'd  call  me  if  you — 
you  really  needed  me  badly." 

"Well,  that's  what  I  did  to-night,  I  assure  you," 
he  laughed.  "  I  felt  like  I  just  had  to  see  you  and 
talk  with  you.  You  see,  I  knew  this  thing  would 
finally  get  to  you,  and  that  you  would  worry  and 
perhaps  lose  sleep  over  it.  I  knew  when  you  saw  me 
with  a  whole  skin  and  solid  bones  that  you'd — " 

"You  flattered  yourself  that  I'd  care!  Huh,  I 
see!  I  suppose  I'd  hate  to  see  any  one  shot  down 
in  cold  blood  at  a  moment's  notice  like  that." 

He  caught  her  hand  and  laughingly  attempted  to 
draw  her  to  him  again,  but  she  remained  leaning 
against  the  door-frame. 

114 


Pole     Baker 

"You  are  not  going  to  be  mad  at  me,"  he  said, 
pleadingly,  "now,  are  you?" 

"No,  but  I'm  going  into  the  house  I  told  you 
I'd  not  meet  you  here  after  all  the  others  have  gone 
to  bed,  when  you  whistled  as  you  would  to  your 
dog,  and  I  want  you  to  know  I  would  not  have  come 
if  I  had  not  been  over-excited.  Good-night." 

"Wait  a  moment.  I  really  did  want  to  see  you 
particularly,  Cynthia  —  to  make  an  engagement. 
The  young  folks  are  all  going  over  to  Pine  Grove 
next  Sunday  afternoon  to  attend  meeting,  and  I 
want  to  take  you  in  my  new  buggy  behind  my 
Kentucky  horse." 

"You  couldn't  wait  till  to-morrow  to  ask  me," 
she  said,  interrogatively. 

"  No,  I  couldn't  wait  till  to-morrow,  for  that  long, 
slim  '  sky-pilot '  will  run  over  before  breakfast  to 
ask  you  to  go  with  him.  I  know  that.  But  can  I 
count  on  you?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  she  said,  simply: 
"Yes,  I'll  go  with  you;  but  I  shall  leave  you  now. 
Good-night." 

"Good-night,  then.  Well,  I'll  see  you  Sunday — 
I  guess  that  will  have  to  do." 


XI 


^LOYD  sat  on  the  bench  for  more  than 
an  hour  after  she  had  left  him.  His 
thoughts  were  of  himself.  He  smoked 
two  cigars  moodily.  The  whole  day 
was  retracing  its  active  steps  before  his 
eyes,  from  the  moment  he  opened  his  ledger  to  do 
his  morning's  work  till  now  that  his  naked  soul  stood 
shivering  in  the  darkness  before  him.  His  thoughts 
bounded  from  one  incident  in  his  life  to  another,  each 
leap  ending  in  a  shudder  of  discontent.  Cynthia's 
dignified  restraint,  and  the  memory  of  her  helpless, 
spasmodic  leanings  both  to  and  from  him,  at  once 
weighted  him  down  and  thrilled  him.  Yes,  his  al 
most  uncontrollable  passion  was  his  chief  fault. 
Would  he  ever  be  able  to  subdue  it  and  reach  his 
ideal  of  manhood?  Throwing  his  cigar  away,  he 
rose  to  leave.  His  watch  told  him  it  was  eleven. 

He  did  not  go  towards  the  house  and  out  at  the 
gate,  but  took  a  nearer  way  through  the  orchard, 
reaching  the  rail  -  fence  a  hundred  yards  below 
Porter's  house.  He  had  just  climbed  over  and  was 
detaching  himself  from  the  detaining  clutch  of  nu 
merous  blackberry  briers,  when  he  saw  a  head  and 
pair  of  shoulders  rise  from  a  near-by  fence-corner. 
It  was  Pole  Baker  who  advanced  to  him  in 
astonishment. 

116 


Pole    Baker 

"  By  gum!"  Pole  ejaculated.  "  I  come  as  nigh  as 
pease  lettin'  a  pistol-shot  fly  at  you.  I  was  passin' 
an'  heard  some'n'  in  the  orchard  an'  'lowed  it  mought 
be  somebody  try  in'  to  rob  Porter's  sweet -potato 
bed,  an',  by  the  holy  Moses,  it  was  you!" 

"Yes,  it  was  me,  Pole." 

The  farmer's  slow  glance  left  Floyd's  face  and 
swept  critically  along  the  fence  to  the  white-posted 
gate  in  the  distance. 

"  Huh!"  he  said,  and  was  silent,  his  eyes  roving  on 
to  the  orchard,  where  his  glance  hovered  in  troubled 
perplexity. 

"Yes,  I  went  to  see  Miss  Cynthia,"  Floyd  ex 
plained,  after  a  pause. 

"Huh,  you  say  you  did!  Well,  I  didn't  see  no 
light  in  the  parlor  when  I  passed  jest  now.  I  was 
particular  to  look,  fer  I've  been  every whar  to  find 
you,  an'  Porter's  was  the  last  place.  By  gum!  I 
didn't  think  a  chap  that  had  been  kick'n'  the  clods 
o'  the  grave  off'n  'im  all  day  fer  a  woman  scrape  'ud 
run  straight  to  another  gal  before  he  knowed  whether 
his  hide  was  liable  to  remain  solid  or  not." 

"I  wanted  to  see  Miss  Cynthia,"  Floyd  said,  "to 
ask  her  to  go  to  bush-arbor  meeting  with  me  Sun 
day,  and  I  didn't  intend  to  let  my  affair  with  Jeff 
Wade  interfere  with  it." 

"Huh,  that  was  it!  an'  that's  why  you  are 
a-comin'  out  o'  Nathan  Porter's  orchard  at  eleven 
o'clock  at  night,  is  it?" 

Floyd  gazed  at  his  rough  friend  for  an  instant, 
just  a  touch  of  irritability  in  his  manner  as  he  made 
answer: 

"Miss  Cynthia  and  I  were  sitting  in  the  grape- 
117 


Pole    Baker 

arbor,  behind  the  house.  She  only  stayed  a  minute 
or  two.  I  sat  there  a  long  time  after  she  went  in. 
I  was  smoking  and  was  beastly  tired." 

"I  see,  I  see!"  Pole  was  slightly  mollified,  but 
was  still  to  be  heard  from. 

"Now,  let  me  tell  you  some'n',  Nelson,"  he  pur 
sued.  "Thar  hain't  no  flower  that  ever  bloomed 
an'  thro  wed  out  sweet  smells  that's  as  nice  an'  purty 
as  a  pure  young  gal  that's  got  good,  honorable 
parents,  an'  the  reputation  of  a  creature  like  that 
is  more  valuable  in  my  sight  than  all  the  gold  an' 
diamonds  on  earth." 

"You  certainly  are  right  about  that,"  Floyd 
agreed,  coldly,  for  he  was  secretly  resenting  Pole's 
implied  warning. 

"Well,  then,"  Baker  said,  even  more  sternly, 
"  don't  you  climb  out'n  Nathan  Porter's  orchard  at 
this  time  o'  night  ag'in,  when  thar's  a  gate  with  a 
latch  an'  hinges  to  it  right  before  yore  eyes.  What 
ef  you'd  'a'  been  seed  'by  some  tattlin'  busybody  ? 
You  hain't  got  no  more  right  to  run  the  risk — the 
bare  risk,  I  say — o'  castin'  a  stain  on  that  little  gal's 
name  than  I  have  to  set  fire  to  yore  store  an'  burn 
it  to  the  ground.  The  shack  could  be  built  up  ag'in, 
but  that  fair  name  'ud  never  be  the  same  ag'in." 

"Ycu  are  thoroughly  right,  Pole,"  Floyd  said, 
regretfully.  "I  can  see  it  now.  But  I'm  rather 
sorry  to  see  you  throw  it  at  a  feller  quite  so  hard." 

"I  reckon  I'm  sorter  upset,"  the  farmer  said, 
half  apologetically,  as  they  walked  on.  "  I  reckon 
it  was  my  talk  with  Jeff  Wade  about  his  sister  that 
got  me  started.  That's  mighty  nigh  broke  him  all 
to  pieces,  Nelson." 

118 


Pole     Baker 

"So  you  met  Wade!"  Floyd  said,  quickly.  "I 
thought  perhaps  you  stopped  him." 

"You  thought  I  did?  What  made  you  think  I 
did?" 

"Why,  when  I'd  waited  till  about  one  o'clock," 
Floyd  replied,  "  I  started  out  to  Wade's,  and— 

"You  say  you  started  out  thar?" 

"  Yes,  I  knew  he  meant  business,  and  I  wanted  it 
settled,  one  way  or  the  other,  so  that  I  could  go 
back  to  work,  or— 

"Or  turn  yore  toes  to  the  sky,  you  fool!" 

"  I  started  to  say,"  Floyd  went  on,  "that  I  knew 
something  had  interfered  with  his  coming,  and— 

"He'd  'a'  shot  seventeen  holes  in  you  or  'a'  put 
seventeen  balls  in  one!"  Pole  cried,  in  high  disgust. 
"  I  finally  fixed  him  all  right,  but  he  wasn't  in  no 
frame  o'  mind  to  have  you  come  to  his  house  an' 
rub  it  in  on  'im.  However,  you  hain't  told  me 
what  made  you  think  I  stopped  'im." 

"Why,"  said  Floyd,  "just  ar-  I  was  starting  away 
from  the  spring,  Mel  Jones  came  running  down  the 
hill.  He'd  been  hiding  behind  c.  big  rock  up  there  to 
see  the  affair,  and  was  awfully  disappointed.  He 
begged  me  to  wait  a  little  longer,  and  said  he  was  sure 
Jeff  would  come  on.  Then  he  told  me  he  saw  you  in 
the  road  near  Wade's  house,  and  I  understood  the 
whole  thing.  I  guess  I  owe  my  life  to  you,  Pole. 
It  isn't  worth  much,  but  I'm  glad  to  have  it,  and  I'd 
rather  owe  you  for  it  than  any  one  I  know.  What 
did  you  say  to  Wade?" 

"Oh,  I  told  'im  all  I  knowed  about  that  little 
frisky  piece,  and  opened  his  eyes  generally.  It's  all 
off,  Nelson.  He'll  let  you  alone  in  the  future.  He's 

119 


badly  broke  up,  but  it's  mostly  over  findin'  out  what 
the  gal  was." 

They  had  reached  the  point  where  their  ways 
separated,  when  they  heard  several  pistol-shots  on 
the  mountain  road  not  far  away,  and  prolonged 
shouting. 

"White  Caps,"  said  Pole,  succinctly.  "They're 
out  on  another  rampage.  Old  Mrs.  Snodgrass,  by 
some  hook  or  crook,  generally  gits  on  to  the'r  plans 
an'  comes  over  an'  reports  it  to  Sally.  They  are 
on  the'r  way  now  to  whip  Sandy  McHugh.  They've 
got  reliable  proof  that  he  stole  Widow  Henry's  pigs, 
an'  they  are  goin'  to  make  'im  a  proposition.  They 
are  a-goin'  to  give  'im  his  choice  betwixt  a  sound 
whippin'  an'  reportin'  the  matter  to  the  grand  jury. 
They  want  him  to  take  the  lickin'  so  he  kin  stay  on 
an'  work  fer  his  wife  and  childern.  I  reckon  that's 
what  he'll  decide  to  do.  Sandy  ain't  in  no  shape 
to  go  to  the  penitentiary." 

"I  guess  he  deserves  punishment  of  some  sort," 
said  Floyd,  abstractedly,  "  though  it's  a  pity  to  have 
our  society  regulated  by  a  band  of  mountain  out 
laws." 

"They  certainly  set  matters  straight  over  at 
Darley,"  Pole  said.  "They  broke  up  them  nigger 
dives,  an'  made  it  safe  fer  white  women  to  go  to 
prayer  -  meetin'  at  night.  Say,  Nelson,  I'm  sorter 
sorry  I  spoke  so  hard  back  thar  about  that  little 
gal's  reputation,  but  the  very  thought  o'  the  slight 
est  harm  ever  comin'  to  her  runs  me  wild.  I  never 
have  spoke  to  you  about  it,  but  I  tuck  a  deliberate 
oath  once  to  protect  'er  with  my  life,  ef  necessary. 
You  see,  she's  been  more  than  a  friend  to  me.  Last 

120 


Pole     Baker 

winter,  while  I  was  off  on  one  o'  my  benders,  little 
Billy  got  sick.  He  had  the  croup  an'  come  as  nigh 
as  pease  dyin' ;  he  could  hardly  breathe.  It  was  a 
awful  night,  rainin',  snowin',  sleetin',  an'  blowin'. 
Sally  left  him  long  enough  to  run  over  to  Porter's  to 
beg  somebody  to  run  fer  Dr.  Stone,  an'  Cynthia  come 
to  the  door  an'  promised  it  ud  be  done.  She  tried 
to  git  old  Nathan  up  an'  dressed,  but  he  was  so  slow 
about  it — grumblin'  all  the  time  about  women  bein' 
scared  at  nothin' — that  Cynthia  plunged  out  in  the 
storm  an'  went  them  two  miles  herself,  an'  fetched 
the  doctor  jest  in  the  nick  o'  time.  Then  she  stayed 
thar  the  rest  o'  that  night  in  'er  wet  clothes,  doin' 
ever'thing  she  could  to  help,  holdin'  Billy  in  her 
arms,  an'  rockin'  'im  back  an'  forth,  while  I  was — 
by  God,  Nelson  Floyd,  I  was  lyin'  under  the  table  in 
Asque's  bar  so  drunk  I  didn't  know  my  hat  from 
a  hole  in  the  ground.  An'  when  I  heard  all  about 
it  afterwards,  I  tuck  my  oath.  I  was  in  the  stable 
feedin'  my  hoss;  he  heard  all  I  said,  Nelson,  an'  I'll 
be  derned  ef  I  don't  believe  he  understood  it.  I'm 
here  to  say  that  ef  anybody  don't  believe  I'll  put  a 
ball  in  the  man  that  dares  to  say  one  word  agin 
that  little  angel,  all  he's  got  to  do  is  to  try  it!  This 
is  a  hell  of  a  community  fer  idle  talk,  anyway,  as 
you  know  from  yore  own  experience,  an'  ef  any  of 
it  ever  touches  that  gal's  fair  name  I'll  kill  tatlers 
as  fast  as  they  open  the'r  dirty  mouths." 

"That's  the  way  to  look  at  it,  Pole,"  Nelson 
Floyd  said,  as  he  turned  to  go;  "but  you'll  never 
have  anything  to  f ear  i  n  t  hat  direction .  Good-night . ' ' 

"  Good-night,  Nelson.  I'll  see  you  in  the  mornin*. 
I  ought  to  'a'  been  in  bed  two  hours  ago." 

121 


XII 


I  hear  that  Sandy  McHugh  tuck 
his  whippin'  like  a  little  man  last 
night,"  Pole  remarked  to  Captain  Dun 
can  and  Floyd  the  next  morning  at  the 
store.  "They  say  he  made  strong 
promises  to  reform,  an',  gentlemen,  I'm  here  to  tell 
you  that  I  believe  them  White  Caps  are  doin'  a 
purty  good  work.  The  lickin'  Sandy  got  last  night 
from  his  neighbors  an'  well-wishers  towards  him  an' 
his  family  is  a-goin'  to  work  a  bigger  change  in  him 
than  a  long  trial  at  court  at  the  state's  expense." 

"Well,  they  say  he  confessed  to  the  stealing,"  said 
the  planter.  "  And  a  thing  like  that  certainly  ought 
to  be  punished  in  some  way." 

"  I  never  stold  but  once  in  my  life,"  Baker  laugh 
ed,  reminiscently,  "  an'  I  was  sorter  drawed  into  that. 
I  was  goin'  with  a  Tennessee  drover  down  to  Atlanta 
with  a  car  o'  hosses.  Old  Uncle  Abner  Daniel  was 
along,  an'  me  'n  him  always  was  sorter  thick.  We 
come  to  Big  Shanty,  whar  the  conductor  told  us  we'd 
barely  have  time  to  run  out  to  the  side  o'  the  road 
an'  buy  a  snack  to  eat,  an'  me  'n  Uncle  Ab  made  a 
dash  fer  the  lunch-counter,  run  by  a  bald-headed 
Dutchman  with  a  bay-window  on  'im.  Thar  was  a 
pile  o'  sandwiches  on  the  counter  marked  ten  cents 
apiece,  an'  we  bought  two.  I  noticed  Uncle  Ab 

122 


Pole     Baker 

sorter  twist  his  face  around  when  he  looked  in  his'n, 
an'  then  I  seed  that  the  ham  inside  of  'em  both 
wasn't  any  thicker  'n  a  piece  o'  paper. 

'"Look  here,  Pole'  said  Uncle  Ab,  'I  bought  a 
sandwich;  I  didn't  agree  to  pay  that  fat  thief  ten 
cents  o'  my  hard  money  fer  two  pieces  o'  bread  that 
don't  even  smell  o'  meat.' 

"Well,  what  you  goin'  to  do  about  it?'  says  I. 

"  '  Do  about  it  ?'  says  he,  an'  then  he  sorter  winked, 
an'  as  the  Dutchman  had  turned  to  his  stove  whar 
he  was  fryin'  some  eggs,  Uncle  Ab  stuck  out  his 
long  fingers  an  slid  a  slice  o'  ham  out  o'  the  top 
sandwich  in  the  stack  an'  slyly  laid  it  betwixt  his 
bread.  I  deprived  the  one  under  it  of  all  the  sub 
stance  it  held,  an'  me  'n  Uncle  Ab  was  munchin' 
away  when  two  passengers,  a  big  man  an'  a  little, 
sawed-off  one,  run  up  jest  as  the  whistle  blowed. 
They  throwed  down  the'r  dimes  an'  grabbed  the 
two  top  sandwiches,  an'  we  all  made  a  break  fer 
the  train  an'  got  in  together.  The  fellers  set  right 
behind  me  'n  Uncle  Ab,  an'  when  they  begun  to 
eat  you  never  heard  sech  cussin'.  'Damn  it, 
thar  hain't  a  bit  o'  ham  in  mine!'  the  big  feller  said; 
an'  then  the  little  'un  ripped  out  an  oath,  an' 
reached  up  an'  tried  to  git  at  the  bell-cord.  'The 
damn  pot-gutted  thief  didn't  even  grease  mine,'  he 
said,  an'  they  both  raised  windows  an'  looked  back 
an'  shook  the'r  fists  an'  swore  they'd  kill  that  Dutch 
man  the  next  time  they  seed  'im. 

"I  thought  I'd  actually  die  laughin'.  Uncle  Ab 
set  thar  with  the  straightest  face  you  ever  looked  at, 
but  his  eyes  was  twinklin'  like  stars  peepin'  through 
wet  clouds. 

9  123 


Pole     Baker 

"Finally  he  said,  'Pole,'  said  he,  'this  experience 
ort  to  teach  us  a  lesson.  You  cayn't  down  wrong 
with  wrong.  We  started  in  to  beat  that  swindler 
at  his  game,  an'  ended  up  by  robbin'  two  hungry  an' 
honest  wayfarers." 

Floyd  and  Captain  Duncan  laughed.  It  seemed 
that  there  was  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  both  Pole 
and  the  planter  not  to  allude  to  the  unpleasant 
affair  of  the  preceding  day,  though  Floyd,  in  his 
sensitive  attitude  in  regard  to  it,  more  than  once 
fancied  it  was  in  their  minds. 

"There  is  a  personal  matter,  Floyd,"  said  Dun 
can,  after  a  silence  of  several  minutes,  "that  I  have 
been  wanting  to  speak  to  you  about.  It  is  in  re 
gard  to  your  parentage.  I've  heard  that  you  are 
greatly  interested  in  it  and  would  like  to  have  it 
cleared  up." 

"I  confess  it,  captain,"  Floyd  said.  "I  suppose 
that  is  a  feeling  that  would  be  natural  to  any  one 
placed  as  I  am." 

"Most  decidedly,"  Duncan  agreed.  "And  it  is 
my  opinion  that  when  you  do  discover  what  you 
are  looking  for,  it  will  all  seem  so  simple  and  plain 
that  you  will  wonder  how  you  could  have  missed  it 
so  long.  I  don't  think  it  is  possible  for  a  thing  like 
that  to  remain  hidden  always." 

"It  certainly  has  foiled  me,  captain,"  Floyd  re 
plied.  "  I  have  spent  more  money  and  made  more 
effort  than  you  would  dream  of,  but  met  with  dis 
appointment  on  every  hand." 

"Perhaps  you  didn't  look  close  enough  at  home," 
said  Duncan.  "  I  confess  the  thing  has  interested  me 
a  good  deal,  and  the  more  I  see  of  you,  and  observe 

124 


Pole    Baker 

your  pluck  and  courage,  the  more  I  would  like  to  see 
you  discover  what  you  want." 

"Thank  you,  captain,"  Floyd  said,  earnestly. 

"I'm  going  to  confess  something  else,  too,"  the 
planter  went  on,  "now  that  I  see  you  don't  resent 
my  interest.  The  truth  is,  I  had  a  talk  with  Colonel 
Price  about  it.  You  know  he  understands  more 
about  genealogy  and  family  histories  than  any  man 
in  the  county.  I  asked  him  if  he  didn't  think  that 
your  given  name,  'Nelson,'  might  not  tend  to  show 
that  you  were,  in  some  way,  related  to  a  family 
by  that  name.  Price  agreed  with  me  that  it  was 
likely,  and  then  it  flashed  on  me  that  I  knew  a  man 
down  in  Atlanta  by  the  name  of  Floyd — Henry  A. 
Floyd — whose  mother  was  one  of  the  South  Carolina 
Nelsons." 

"  Is  it  possible?"  the  young  merchant  asked,  lean 
ing  forward  in  almost  breathless  interest. 

"  Yes,  and  he  is  a  man  of  good  standing,  but  very 
unsuccessful  financially — a  man  who  was  educated 
for  the  law,  and  failed  at  it,  and  now,  I  believe,  lives 
only  on  the  income  from  a  big  farm  in  Bartow 
County.  I  knew  him  quite  well  when  we  were  both 
young  men ;  but  he  never  married,  and  of  late  years 
he  seems  soured  against  everybody.  I  met  him  at 
the  Capitol  in  Atlanta  only  last  week,  and  tried  to 
get  him  interested  in  your  family  matter.  At  first, 
from  his  evident  surprise  that  there  could  be  any 
one  bearing  both  those  names  up  here,  I  thought 
he  was  going  to  reveal  something  that  would  aid 
you.  But  after  asking  me  three  or  four  ques 
tions  about  you,  he  closed  up,  and  that  was  the 
end  of  it.  He  said  he  knew  nothing  of  your  par- 

125 


Pole    Baker 

entage,  but  that  he  was  sure  you  were  no  kin  of 
his." 

"Say,  captain" — Pole  Baker  broke  into  the  con 
versation — "would  you  mind  tellin'  me  right  here 
what  you  told  'im  about  Nelson?  I've  seed  the  old 
cu^s;  I've  been  on  his  farm;  I  once  thought  about 
rentin'  land  from  'im.  Did  you  tell  'im  Nelson  was  a 
man  of  high  standing  here — that  he  was  about  the 
richest  young  chap  in  the  county  an'  got  more  grit 
than  a  car-load  o'  sand-paper?" 

"No,"  Duncan  laughed.  "He  didn't  let  me  get 
that  far,  Baker.  In  hopes  of  rousing  his  sympathy, 
I  reckon  I  laid  a  good  deal  of  stress  on  Floyd's  early 
misfortune.  Of  course,  I  was  going  to  tell  him  all 
about  you,  Floyd,  but,  as  I  say,  he  didn't  give  me  a 
good  chance." 

"You  were  quite  right,  captain,"  Floyd  returned. 
"Pole  would  have  made  me  appear  ridiculous." 

"Huh!  I'd  a  got  more  out  o'  the  old  fossil  than 
Captain  Duncan  did,"  Pole  declared,  positively, 
"You  knowed  how  to  manage  men  in  the  war, 
captain,  an  you  are  purty  good  at  bossin'  an 
overseer  when  you  are  at  a  hotel  in  Florida  an' 
he's  fillin'  a  sack  in  yore  corn-crib  at  home,  but  I'll 
bet  my  hat  you  didn't  tackle  that  feller  right. 
Knowing  that  he  was  down  in  the  mouth,  unlucky, 
an'  generally  soured  agin  the  world,  I'd  never  a-tried 
to  git  'im  interested  in  pore  kin  he'd  never  seed. 
I'll  bet  a  quart  o'  rye  to  two  fingers  o'  sp'ilt  cider 
that  he'd  'a'  talked  out  o'  t'other  side  o'  his  mouth 
ef  I'd  a  been  thar  to  sorter  show  'im  the  kind  o' 
kin  that  he  mought  scrape  up  ef  he  turned  his 
hand  to  it.  You  let  me  run  agin  that  old  skunk,  an' 

126 


Pole    Baker 

I'll  have  him  settin'  up  the  drinks  an'  axin'  me 
more  questions  than  a  Dutchman  1'arnin'  to  talk 
our  language.  Shucks!  I'm  jest  a  mountain-scrub, 
but  I  know  human  natur'.  Thar  comes  old  May  hew. 
He'll  order  us  out — it's  treat,  trade,  or  travel  with 
that  old  skunk." 


XIII 

[ILLHOUSE  had  gone  over  to  Porter's 
early  that  morning.    He  found  Nathan 
seated  on  the  porch  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
his  heavy  shoes  unlaced  for   comfort 
and  a  hand-made  cob-pipe  in  his  mouth. 
"I  want   to   see   Miss  Cynthia  a  moment,  '  the 
preacher  said,  with  a  touch  of  embarrassment  as  he 
came  in  at  the  gate,  his  hat  in  hand. 

Old  Porter  rose  with  evident  reluctance.  "All 
right,"  he  said.  "I'll  see  ef  I  kin  find  'er — ef  I  do 
it  will  be  the  fust  time  I  ever  run  across  her,  or 
any  other  woman,  when  she  was  needed." 

He  returned  in  a  moment  "  She'll  be  out  in  a 
few  minutes,"  he  said.  "She  told  me  to  tell  you 
to  set  down  here  on  the  porch." 

Hillhouse  took  a  vacant  seat,  holding  his  hat 
daintily  on  his  sharp  knees,  and  Porter  resumed 
his  chair,  tilting  it  backward  as  he  talked. 

"Ef  you  are  ever  unlucky  enough  to  git  married, 
parson,"  he  said,  "you'll  know  more  about  women 
than  you  do  now,  an'  at  the  same  time  you'll  swear 
you  know  less.  They  say  the  Maker  of  us  all  has 
unlimited  knowledge,  but  I'll  be  blamed  ef  I  believe 
He  could  understand  women — even  ef  he  did  create 
'em.  I'm  done  with  the  whole  lot!"  Porter  waved 
his  hand,  as  if  brushing  aside  something  of  an  ob- 

128 


Pole    Baker 

jectionable  nature.  "They  never  do  a  thing  that 
has  common-sense  in  it.  I  believe  they  are  plumb 
crazy  when  it  comes  to  tacklin'  anything  reasonable. 
I'll  give  you  a  sample.  Fer  the  last  ten  years  I 
have  noticed  round  about  here,  that  whenever  a 
man  died  the  women  folks  he  left  sent  straight  to 
town  an'  bought  a  high-priced  coffin  to  lay  'im  away 
in.  No  matter  whether  the  skunk  had  left  a  dollar 
to  his  name  or  not,  that  Jew  undertaker  over  thar 
at  Darley,  to  satisfy  family  pride,  sent  out  a  coffin 
an'  trimmin's  to  the  amount  of  an  even  hundred 
dollars.  I've  knowed  widows  an'  orphans  to  stint 
an'  starve  an'  go  half  naked  fer  ten  years  to  pay  off 
a  debt  like  that.  Now,  as  I'm  financially  shaped,  I 
won't  leave  but  powerful  little,  an'  that  one  thing 
worried  me  considerable.  Now  an'  then  I'd  sorter 
spring  the  subject  on  my  women,  an'  I  found  out 
that  they  thought  a  big  splurge  like  that  was  the 
only  decent  way  to  act  over  a  man's  remains.  Think 
o'  the  plumb  foolishness,  parson,  o'  layin'  a  man 
away  on  a  silk-plush  cushion  after  he's  dead,  when 
he's  slept  all  his  life  on  a  common  tick  stuffed  with 
corn-shucks  with  the  stubs  on  'em.  But  that's 
women!  Well,  I  set  to  work  to  try  to  beat  'em  at 
the  game,  as  fur  as  /  was  concerned.  I  'lowed  ef  I 
made  my  preparations  myself  ahead  o'  time,  with 
the  clear  understandin'  that  I  wanted  it  that  away, 
why,  that  no  reasonable  person  would,  or  could, 
raise  objections." 

"  Oh,  I  see!"  Hillhouse  said,  his  mind  evidently  on 
something  else. 

"  Well,  you  may  see — an'  any  other  reasonable  man 
could — but  you  don't  see  what  them  women  done, 

129 


Pole    Baker 

Well,  to  go  on.  I  went  down  to  Swinton's  new  mill, 
whar  he  was  sawin'  out  pine  planks,  an'  set  around 
all  mornin',  an'  whenever  I  seed  a  solid  heart- 
plank  run  out,  I'd  nab  it  an'  lay  it  aside.  Then, 
when  I'd  got  enough  to  make  me  a  good,  roomy  box, 
I  axed  'im  what  the  pile  was  wuth  an'  got  the  lot 
at  a  bargain,  beca'se  times  was  dull  an'  I  was  on 
the  spot.  Well,  I  hauled  the  planks  home  on  my 
wagon  an'  unloaded  at  the  barn.  The  women,  all 
three,  come  out  like  a  lot  o'  hens  peckin'  around  an' 
begun  to  ax  questions.  They  'lowed  I  was  goin'  to 
make  some  shelves  fer  the  smoke-house,  to  lay  hams 
an'  shoulders  on,  an'  they  was  powerful  tickled.  I 
didn't  let  'em  know  right  then.  But  the  next  day 
when  Jim  Long  come  with  his  hammer  an'  nails  an' 
saw  an'  plane,  an'  stood  me  up  agin  the  wall  in  the 
woodshed,  an'  started  to  measure  me  up  an'  down 
an'  sideways,  they  begun  to  scream  an'  take  on  at  a 
desperate  rate.  It  was  the  fust  time  I  ever  heard 
mournin'  at  my  own  funeral,  an'  it  sorter  upset  me ; 
but  I  told  Jim  to  go  ahead,  an'  he  did  start,  but,  la 
me!  The  whole  lay-out  run  to  'im  an'  got  around 
'im  an'  threatened,  an'  went  on  at  sech  a  rate  that 
he  throwed  up  the  job  an'  went  home.  I  got  mad 
an'  went  off  fishin',  an'  when  I  come  back  I  found 
all  o'  them  fine,  new  planks  split  up  into  kindlin'  fer 
the  stove,  an'  it  wasn't  a  week  'fore  my  burial  outfit 
was  turned  into  ashes.  I  kin  see  now  that  when 
my  time  comes  my  folks  will  rake  an'  scrape  to  git 
up  money  to  put  me  in  a  box  so  thin  that  a  dead 
man  could  kick  a  hole  in  it." 

"  They  have  their  way  of  looking  at  such  matters," 
the  preacher  ventured,  awkwardly.     "Death  is  a 

130 


Pole     Baker 

serious  thing,  brother  Porter,  and  it  affects  most 
people  deeply." 

"  It  hain't  so  serious  on  a  cash  basis  as  it  is  on  a 
credit,"  Nathan  declared.  "But  thar  Cynthia 
comes  now." 

"  I'm  an  early  bird,  Miss  Cynthia."  Hillhouse  was 
actually  flushed.  "  That  is,  I  don  t  mean  to  hint 
that  you  are  a  worm,  you  know;  but  the  truth  is,  I 
was  afraid  if  I  didn't  come  quick  some  hawk  of  a 
fellow  would  bear  you  away  to  bush-arbor  meeting 
next  Sunday  afternoon.  Will  you  let  me  take  you  ?" 

Cynthia's  face  clouded  over.  "I'm  very  sorry," 
she  said,  "but  I  have  already  promised  some  one 
else." 

"  Oh,  is  that  so  ?"  Hillhouse  could  not  disguise  his 
disappointment.  "  Are  you  going  with — with — 

"Mr.  Floyd  asked  me,"  the  girl  answered,  "and 
I  told  him  I'd  go.  I'm  very  sorry  to  disappoint 
you." 

"Why,  Cynthia"  —  Mrs.  Porter  had  approached 
and  stood  in  the  door-way,  staring  perplexedly  at 
her  daughter — "you  told  me  last  night  just  before 
you  went  to  bed  that  you  had  no  engagement  for 
Sunday.  Have  you  had  a  note  already  this  morn- 
ing?" 

Cynthia,  in  some  confusion,  avoided  her  mother's 
sharp,  probing  look. 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  she  said,  lamely.  "I've 
promised  to  go  with  Mr.  Floyd,  and  that  is  sufficient." 

"Oh  yes,  that  is  sufficient,  of  course,"  Hillhouse 
said,  still  under  his  cloud  of  disappointment,  "and 
I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  time.  The  truth  is, 
Floyd  is  hard  to  beat  at  anything.  He  has  a  way 


Pole    Baker 

about  him  that  wins  the — perhaps  I  may  say — the 
sympathy  of  nearly  all  ladies." 

A  reply  of  some  sort  was  struggling  for  an  outlet  in 
Cynthia's  rapidly  rising  and  falling  bosom,  but  her 
mother  forestalled  her  with  tight  lips  and  eyes  that 
were  flashing  ominously. 

"Brother  Hillhouse,"  she  said,  "a  man  of  that 
stamp  has  more  influence  over  girls  of  the  present 
generation  than  any  other  kind.  Let  a  man  be 
moral,  religious,  and  sober,  and  thoughtful  of  the 
reputations  of  women,  and  he  is  shoved  aside  for 
the  sort  of  men  who  fight  duels  and  break  hearts 
and  ruin  happy  homes  for  their  own  idle  gratifica 
tion." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Porter,  I  didn't  mean  to  raise  such  a — 
a  point  as  that,"  Hillhouse  stammered.  "I'm  sure 
Miss  Cynthia  appreciates  all  that  is  good  in  human 
ity;  in  fact,  I  think  she  leans  decidedly  that  way.  I 
couldn't  expect  her  to  let  a  little  public  gossip  turn 
her  against  a  friend  whom  she  believes  in." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Hillhouse,"  Cynthia  said,  draw 
ing  herself  up  to  her  full  height  and  turning  to  go  in. 
"I  appreciate  the  way  you  look  at  it." 

She  went  into  the  house,  walking  very  straight  and 
not  looking  back. 

Porter  stood  up  and  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe  in  his  hard,  broad  hand.  "  Do  you  see  that  thar 
gate,  parson  ?"  he  laughed.  "  Well,  you  take  a  fool's 
advice  an'  go  home,  an'  come  back  some  other  time. 
Neither  one  o'  them  women  know  what  they  are 
a-talkin'  about,  an'  they'll  have  you  as  crazy  as  they 
are  in  ten  minutes  ef  you  try  to  follow  'em." 

When  Hillhouse  had  gone,  Mrs.  Porter  went  back 
132 


Pole    Baker 

into  the  sitting-room  and  stood  over  Cynthia  as  the 
girl  sat  sewing  at  a  window. 

"You  may  think  you've  got  my  eyes  closed,"  the 
old  woman  said,  "but  you  haven't.  You  didn't 
have  any  engagement  with  Nelson  Floyd  last  night 
at  supper,  and  you  either  saw  him  after  we  went 
to  bed  or  you  have  had  a  secret  note  from  him  this 
morning." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,"  Cynthia  said,  indiffer 
ently,  and  hot  with  vexation  she  bent  her  head  over 
her  work. 

"I  was  watching  your  face  this  morning,  too," 
Mrs.  Porter  went  on,  "when  your  pa  came  in  and 
said  that  Wade  did  not  meet  Floyd  at  the  spring, 
and  I  noticed  that  you  did  not  seem  at  all  surprised. 
I'll  get  at  the  bottom  of  this,  now  you  see  if  I  don't!" 
And  white  with  suppressed  anger,  Mrs.  Porter  turned 
away. 

As  she  went  out  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  with  a  tottering 
step,  came  into  the  room  and  drew  near  to  Cynthia. 

"I  am  worried  about  your  mother,"  she  said, 
standing  with  her  thin  hand  resting  on  the  window- 
frame.  She  troubles  so  much  over  small  things.  I 
shudder  when  I  think  about  it,  Cynthia;  but  I'm 
afraid  she'll  go  like  your  aunt  did.  It  seems  to  be 
inherited  from  your  grandfather's  side  of  the 
family." 

"Are  you  really  afraid  of  that,  granny?"  The 
girl  looked  up,  a  serious  expression  dawning  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  think  she'd  actually  kill 
herself,  as  Martha  did,  but  if  this  goes  on  her  mind 
certainly  will  give  way.  It's  not  natural — it's  too 


Pole     Baker 

great  a  strain  for  one  human  brain  to  stand.  She 
didn't  sleep  a  wink  last  night  I  know  that,  for  I 
woke  up  several  times  and  heard  her  moving  about 
and  sighing." 

"Poor  mamma!"  Cynthia  said,  regretfully,  to  her 
self,  as  her  grandmother  moved  slowly  from  the 
room.  "And  I  spoke  disrespectfully  to  her  just 
now.  Besides,  perhaps  I  have  given  her  cause  to 
worry,  from  her  stand-point.  God  forgive  me,  I 
really  did  go  out  to  meet  him  that  way,  and  if  she 
thinks  it  would  be  so  bad,  what  must  he  think?  Is 
it  possible  for  him  to  class  me  with — to  think  of  me 
as — as  he  does  of—  Oh!"  and  with  a  hot  flush  burn 
ing  her  face,  Cynthia  rose  hastily  and  put  her  work 
away. 


XIV 

T  one  o'clock  the  following  Sunday 
afternoon  Nelson  Floyd  drove  up  to 
Porter's  gate  in  his  new  buggy,  behind 
his  spirited  Kentucky  thorough-bred. 
Nathan  Porter  in  his  stockinged  feet, 
for  the  day  was  warm,  stood  on  the  porch,  and  as 
Floyd  reined  in,  he  walked  down  the  steps  and  out 
to  the  gate,  leaning  over  it  lazily,  his  slow,  pleased 
glance  critically  sweeping  the  horse  from  head  to 
foot. 

"You've  got  you  a  dandy  at  last,"  was  his  ob 
servation.  "  I  used  to  be  some'n'  of  a  judge.  Them's 
the  slimmest  legs  fer  sech  a  good  stout  body  I  ever 
seed.  He  totes  his  head  high  without  a  check-rein, 
too,  an'  that's  purty.  I  reckon  you  come  after 
Cynthia.  She'll  be  out  here  in  a  minute.  She 
knows  you've  come;  she  kin  see  the  road  from  the 
window  o'  her  room.  An'  I  never  knowed  a  woman 
that  could  keep  from  peepin'  out." 

"Oh,  I'm  in  no  hurry  at  all,"  Floyd  assured  him. 
"  It's  only  ten  miles,  and  we  can  easily  make  it  by 
the  three  o'clock  service." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  reckon  it  don't  make  no  odds  to  you 
whether  you  hold  yore  meetin'  in  that  hug-me-tight 
or  under  the  arbor.  I  know  my  choice  'ud  'a'  been 
jest  one  way  when  I  was  on  the  turf.  Camp-meet- 

'35 


Pole    Baker 

in's  an'  bush-arbor  revivals  used  to  be  our  hay-time. 
Us  boys  an'  gals  used  to  have  a  great  way  o'  settin' 
in  our  buggies,  jest  outside,  whar  we  could  chat  all 
we  wanted  to,  jine  in  the  tunes,  an'  at  the  same 
time  git  credit  fer  properly  observin'  the  day." 

"That's  about  the  way  the  young  people  look  at 
it  now,"  Floyd  said,  with  a  smile. 

"I  reckon  this  is  a  sort  o'  picnic  to  you  in  more 
ways  than  one,"  Porter  remarked,  without  a  trace  of 
humor  in  his  tone,  as  he  spat  over  the  gate  and 
wiped  his  chin  on  his  bare  hand.  "  You  ort  to  enjoy 
a  day  o'  freedom,  after  waitin'  two  hours  at  that 
spring  fer  Jeff  Wade.  Gee  whiz!  half  o'  Springtown 
was  behind  barracks,  sayin'  prayers  an'  beggin'  the 
Lord  to  spare  the  town  from  flames.  I  didn't  stay 
myself.  I  don't  object  to  watchin'  a  fisticuff  match 
once  in  a  while,  but  fellers  in  a  powder-and-ball 
battle  like  that  seem  to  try  to  mow  down  spectators 
as  hard  as  they  do  the'r  man.  Then  I  don't  like 
to  be  questioned  in  court.  A  feller  has  to  forgit  so 
dern  much,  ef  he  stands  to  his  friends." 

"No,  we  avoided  trouble,"  said  Floyd,  in  evident 
aversion  to  a  topic  so  keenly  personal.  "So  you 
like  my  horse!  He  is  really  the  best  I  could  get  at 
Louisville." 

' '  I  reckon . ' '  Porter  spat  again .  ' '  Well ,  as  you  say , 
Wade  will  shoot  an'  he  kin,  too.  When  he  was  in 
the  war,  they  tell  me  his  colonel  wanted  some  sharp 
shooters  an'  selected  'im  to — but  thar's  that  gal  now. 
Gee  whiz!  don't  she  look  fluffy?' 

For  the  most  part,  the  drive  was  through  the 
mountains,  along  steep  roads,  past  yawning  gorges, 
and  across  rapid,  turbulent  streams.  It  was  an 

136 


Pole    Baker 

ideal  afternoon  for  such  an  outing,  and  Cynthia  had 
never  looked  so  well,  though  she  was  evidently 
fatigued.  Floyd  remarked  upon  this,  and  she  said: 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  was,  but  I  waked  at  three 
o'clock  this  morning,  and  could  not  get  back  to 
sleep  before  father  called  me  at  six.  Since  then  I 
have  been  hard  at  work.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  feel  very 
tired  before  we  get  back." 

' '  You  must  try  not  to  think  of  fatigue. ' '  Floyd  was 
admiring  her  color,  her  hair,  her  eyes.  "Then  you 
ought  to  relax  yourself.  There  is  no  use  sitting  so 
erect ;  if  you  sit  that  way  the  jolting  over  this  rough 
road  will  break  you  all  to  pieces.  Don't  lean  so  far 
from  me.  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you.  I'm  glad  I 
beat  Hillhouse  to  you.  I  saw  him  going  to  your 
house  the  next  morning.  I  know  he  asked  you." 

"Yes,  he  asked  me,"  Cynthia  said,  "and  I  was 
sorry  to  disappoint  him." 

Floyd  laughed.  "  Well,  the  good  and  the  bad  are 
fighting  over  you,  little  girl.  One  man  who,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  community,  stands  for  reckless  badness, 
has  singled  you  out,  and  thrown  down  the  gauntlet 
to  a  man  who  represents  the  Church,  God,  and 
morality — both  are  grimly  fighting  for  the  prettiest 
human  flower  that  ever  grew  on  a  mountain-side." 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  that  way."  Cynthia 
looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes.  "  It  sounds  in 
sincere;  it  doesn't  come  from  your  heart.  I  don't 
like  your  compliments — your  open  flattery.  You 
say  the  same  things  to  other  girls." 

"Oh  no;  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  don't.  I 
couldn't.  They  don't  inspire  them  as  you  do.  You 
— you  tantalize  me,  Cynthia;  you  drive  me  crazy 

i37 


Pole    Baker 

with  your  maddening  reserve — the  way  you  have  of 
thinking  things  no  man  could  read  in  your  face,  and 
above  it  all,  through  it  all,  your  wonderful  beauty 
absolutely  startles  me — makes  me  at  times  unable 
to  speak,  clogs  my  utterance,  and  fires  my  brain. 
I  don't  know — I  can't  understand  it,  but  you  are 
in  my  mind  all  day  long,  and  at  night,  after  my 
work  is  over,  I  want  to  wander  about  your  house — 
not  with  the  hope  of  having  you  actually  come  out, 
you  know,  but  to  enjoy  the  mere  fancy  that  you 
have  joined  me." 

A  reply  was  on  her  hesitating  lips,  but  his  ardor 
and  impetuosity  swept  it  away,  and  she  sat  with 
lowered  lashes  looking  into  her  lap.  The  horse  had 
paused  to  drink  at  a  clear  brook  running  across  the 
road.  All  about  grew  graceful,  drooping  willows. 
It  was  a  lonely  spot,  and  it  seemed  that  they  were 
quite  out  of  the  view  of  all  save  themselves.  Cynthia's 
pink  hand  lay  like  a  shell  in  her  lap,  and  he  took  it 
into  his.  For  an  instant  it  thrilled  as  if  the  spirit  of 
resistance  had  suddenly  waked  in  it,  and  then  it  lay 
passive.  Floyd  raised  it  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it, 
once,  twice,  several  times.  He  held  it  ecstatically 
in  both  his  own,  and  fondled  it.  Then  suddenly  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  escaped  Cynthia's  lips, 
and  with  her  eyes  glued  on  some  object  ahead,  she 
snatched  her  hand  away,  her  face  hot  with  blushes. 
Following  her  glance,  Floyd  saw  a  man  with  his 
coat  on  his  arm  rising  from  the  ground  where  he 
had  been  resting  on  the  moss.  It  was  Pole  Baker, 
and  with  his  shaggy  head  down,  his  heavy  brows 
drawn  together,  he  came  towards  them. 

"  I  was  jest  waitin'  fer  somebody  to  pass  an'  give 
138 


Pole    Baker     . 

me  a  match,"  he  said  to  Floyd,  almost  coldly, 
without  a  glance  at  Cynthia.  "I'm  dyin'  to  smoke 
this  cigar." 

"What  are  you  doing  out  afoot?"  Floyd  asked, 
as  he  gave  him  several  matches. 

"  Oh,  I'm  goin'  to  meetin',  too.  I  know  a  short 
foot-path  through  the  mountains.  Sally  an'  the  chil- 
dern  didn't  want  to  come,  an'  I'd  a  heap  ruther  walk 
five  miles  than  to  ride  ten  over  a  road  like  this  'un. 
I'd  sorter  be  afeard  of  a  mettlesome  hoss  like  that  'un. 
Ef  he  was  to  git  scared  an'  break  an'  run,  neither  one 
o'  you'd  escape  among  these  cliffs  an'  gullies." 

"Oh,  I  can  hold  him  in,"  Floyd  said.  "Well, 
we'd  better  drive  on.  Do  you  think  you  can  get 
there  aj  soon  as  we  do,  Pole?' 

"  I  won't  miss  it  much,"  said  the  farmer,  and  they 
saw  him  disappear  in  a  shaded  path  leading  down  the 
mountain-side 

"He  puzzles  me,"  Floyd  said,  awkwardly.  "For 
a  minute  I  imagined  he  was  offended  at  something." 

"  He  saw  you — holding  my  hand. ' '  Cynthia  would 
not  say  kissing.  The  word  had  risen  to  her  tongue, 
but  she  instinctively  discarded  it.  "He's  been 
almost  like  a  brother  to  me  He  has  a  strong  charac 
ter,  and  I  admire  him  very  much.  I  always  forget 
his  chief  weakness;  he  never  seems  to  me  to  be  a 
drunkard.  He  has  the  highest  respect  for  women 
of  any  man  I  ever  knew.  I'm  sorry — just  now — " 

"Oh,  never  mind  Pole,"  Floyd  broke  in,  consol 
ingly.  "He's  been  a  young  man  himself,  and  he 
knows  how  young  people  are.  Now,  if  you  begin 
to  worry  over  that  little  thing,  I  shall  be  miserable. 
I  set  out  to  make  you  have  a  pleasant  drive." 

10  I39 


XV 


N  hour  later  they  arrived  at  the  bush- 
arbor,  a  rough  shed  upon  which  rested 
a  roof  of  freshly  cut  boughs  of  trees  and 
in  which  there  were  benches  without 
backs.  The  ground  was  strewn  with 
straw,  and  at  the  far  end  was  a  crude  platform  and 
table  where  several  ministers  sat. 

Leaving  his  companion  near  the  main  entrance, 
Floyd  led  his  horse  some  distance  away  before  he 
could  find  a  suitable  place  to  hitch  him.  Returning, 
he  found  a  seat  for  himself  and  Cynthia  near  the 
rear.  They  had  not  been  there  long  before  Pole 
Baker  slouched  in,  warm  and  flushed  from  his  walk, 
and  sat  directly  across  the  aisle  from  them.  Floyd 
smiled  and  called  Cynthia's  attention  to  him,  but 
Pole  stared  straight  at  the  pulpit  and  neither  looked 
to  the  right  nor  left.  Floyd  noticed  a  farmer  bend 
over  and  speak  to  him,  and  was  surprised  to  see  that 
Pole  made  no  response  whatever.  With  a  puzzled 
expression  on  his  face,  the  farmer  sank  back  into 
his  seat. 

The  meeting  was  opened  with  prayer  and  a  hymn. 
Then  Hillhouse,  who  had  arrived  a  little  late,  came 
in,  a  Bible  and  hymn-book  in  hand,  and  went  forward 
and  sat  with  the  other  ministers.  Floyd  noted  the 
shifting  look  of  dissatisfaction  on  his  thin  face,  and 

140 


Pole     Baker 

his  absent-minded  manner,  as  he  exchanged  perfunc 
tory  greetings  with  those  around  him. 

"Poor  fellow!"  Floyd  said  to  himself,  "he's  hard 
hit,  and  no  wonder."  He  glanced  at  the  fair  face  at 
his  elbow  and  thrilled  from  head  to  foot.  She  was 
certainly  all  that  a  woman  could  possibly  be. 

Then  there  was 'a  rousing  sermon  from  the  Rev. 
Edward  Richardson,  an  eloquent  mountain  evangel 
ist.  His  pleadings  bore  immediate  fruit.  Women 
began  to  shed  tears,  and  sob,  and  utter  prayers 
aloud.  This  was  followed  by  tumultuous  shouting, 
and  the  triumphant  evangelist  closed  his  talk  by 
asking  all  who  felt  like  it  to  kneel  where  they 
were  and  receive  prayers  for  their  benefit.  Half  of 
the  congregation  fell  on  their  knees.  "  Did  you  see 
that?"  Floyd  whispered  to  Cynthia,  and  he  directed 
her  attention  to  Pole  Baker,  who  was  kneeling  on 
the  ground,  his  great,  heavily  shod  feet  under  the 
seat  in  front  of  him,  his  elbows  on  his  own  bench, 
and  his  big,  splaying  hands  pressed  over  his  eyes. 

"  Poor  fellow!"  she  whispered  back,  "  he  is  making 
fresh  resolutions  to  quit  drinking,  I  suppose.  I'm 
so  sorry  for  him.  He  tries  harder  to  reform  for  the 
sake  of  his  wife  and  children  than  any  man  I  know. 
Sometimes  I  am  afraid  he  never  will  succeed." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Floyd.  "You  see,  I  know 
what  it  is,  Cynthia." 

"You?" 

"Why,  of  course,  it  almost  got  me  down  once. 
There  was  a  point  in  my  life  when  I  could  have  been 
blown  one  way  or  the  other  as  easily  as  a  feather.  I 
don't  want  to  pose  as  being  better  than  I  am,  and  I 
confess  that  I  am  actually  afraid  at  times  that  it 

141 


Pole    Baker 

may  again  get  the  best  of  me.  God  only  knows  how 
a  man  has  to  fight  a  thing  like  that  after  it  has  once 
become  a  habit.  As  long  as  matters  are  like  they 
are  now,  I  can  hold  my  own,  I  am  sure ;  but  I  actually 
believe  if  I  had  to  meet  some  absolutely  crushing 
blow  to  all  my  hopes  and  aspirations,  I'd — I'd  really 
be  as  weak  as  Pole  is." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Cynthia,  raising  her 
frank  eyes  to  his.  "I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it," 
she  repeated,  firmly. 

"You  don't?  Well,  perhaps  your  faith  will  save 
me." 

The  prayer  over,  the  preacher  next  called  on  all 
who  felt  that  they  needed  special  spiritual  help  in 
any  particular  trial,  affliction,  or  trouble  to  come 
forward  and  give  him  their  hands.  Several  men  and 
women  responded,  and  among  them,  to  Floyd's 
growing  astonishment,  was  Pole  Baker.  He  stood 
erect  at  his  seat  for  an  instant,  and  then,  with  his 
long  arms  swinging  at  his  sides,  he  walked  up  and 
shook  hands  stiffly  with  the  minister. 

"You  were  right  about  it,"  Floyd  said  to  Cynthia. 
"  I  reckon  he's  making  new  resolutions.  But  where 
is  the  fellow  going?" 

They  saw  Pole,  after  releasing  the  preacher's  hand, 
turn  out  at  the  side  of  the  arbor,  and  slowly  stalk 
away  towards  the  spot  where  Floyd  had  hitched 
his  horse. 

"Perhaps  he's  going  to  start  back  home,"  Cynthia 
said.  "  It's  getting  late  and  cloudy,  and  he  has  a 
long  walk  before  him." 

"  That's  it,"  said  Floyd.  "  And  footing  it  through 
the  woods  as  dark  as  it  is  even  now  is  no  simple 

142 


Pole    Baker 

matter;  though  Pole  really  has  the  instincts  of  a 
red  Indian.  But  I  don't  understand  it,  for  he  is  not 
headed  towards  home." 

There  was  another  earnest  talk  from  another 
preacher,  and  then  Hillhouse  closed  the  meeting 
with  a  prayer. 

Leaving  Cynthia  at  the  arbor,  Floyd  went  down 
for  his  horse.  He  was  not  far  from  the  buggy  when 
he  saw  Pole  Baker  rise  from  a  flat  stone  upon  which 
he  had  been  seated.  Without  looking  at  him,  Pole 
went  to  the  hitch-rein  and  unfastened  it,  and  led  the 
restive  animal  around  in  the  direction  he  was  to  go. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  old  man,"  Floyd  said, 
deeply  touched  by  the  action.  "  I  could  have  done 
that  myself." 

"I  know  it,  Nelson,"  Pole  responded;  "but  I've 
got  some'n'  to  say  to  you,  an'  as  it  is  late  an'  may 
take  a  minute  or  two,  I  thought  I'd  save  all  the  time 
I  could  an'  not  keep  yore  little  partner  waitin'." 

"Oh,  you  want  to  see  me,  do  you?" 

Pole  hesitated,  his  glance  on  the  ground;  the 
sockets  of  his  big  eyes  were  full-looking,  and  the 
muscles  of  his  face  and  great  neck  were  twitching. 
Presently  he  stared  Floyd  steadily  in  the  eyes  and 
began : 

"Nelson,  you've  knowed  me  a  good  many  years 
in  the  way  one  man  knows  a  friend  an'  neighbor,  or 
even  a  brother,  but  you  don't  plumb  understand  me 
yit.  The  Lord  God  Almighty's  made  men  side  by 
side  in  life  as  different  as  two  kinds  o'  plants,  or  two 
sorts  o'  minerals.  Me  'n'  you  is  friends,  an'  I'm  a-goin' 
to  say  at  the  start  that  I  love  you  as  a  brother, 
but  we  see  things  different — me  'n'  you  do — we  act 


Pole    Baker 

different  about  some  things.  That's  what  I  want  to 
see  you  about." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  Floyd  had  never  been  more  per 
plexed  in  his  life,  but  he  waited  for  Pole's  ex 
planation. 

"  I  hain't  here  to  reflect  on  the  character  of  wom 
en  in  general,  nuther,"  said  Baker,  "though  what 
I  say.  mought  sound  like  it  to  the  shallow-minded. 
I'm  here  to  tell  you  that  the  Lord  God  has  made 
some  o'  the  sweetest  an'  best  an'  purest  women  that 
ever  lived  unable  to  resist  the  fire  the  devil  kindles 
in  some  men's  eyes.  Jest  as  the  Almighty  al 
lowed  Old  Nick  to  play  smash  right  among  the 
elected  angels  o'  heaven  tell  he  was  kicked  out,  so 
does  he  let  'im  play  hell  an'  damnation  with  the 
best  an'  purest  here  on  earth,  usin'  as  his  devilish 
instrument  men  who  excuse  the'rselves  on  the  plea 
that  it's  human  natur'.  A  good  woman  will  some 
times  be  as  helpless  under  a  hot-blooded  man's  eye 
and  voice  as  a  dove  is  when  it  flutters  an'  stands 
wonderin'  before  a  rattlesnake  that  means  to  devour 
it  soul  and  body." 

"Pole,  what's  all  this  mean?"  Floyd  asked,  slight 
ly  irritated. 

"You  wait  an'  see,  dern  yore  hide!"  said  Pole. 
"  Ef  I  kin  afford  to  talk  to  you  wrhen  I'm  due  at  my 
home  an'  fireside,  you  kin  afford  to  listen,  fer  ef  it 
don't  do  you  some  good,  it  will  be  the  beginnin'  o' 
more  harm  than  you  ever  had  to  tackle  in  yore 
short  life.  I  want  to  tell  you,  Nelson,  that  that 
little  woman  you  drove  out  here  has  been  as  true  a 
friend  to  me  as  you  have,  an'  if  I  have  to  side  with 
one  or  the  other,  it  will  be  with  the  weakest  one. 

144 


Pole    Baker 

She's  made  sacrifices  fer  me.  She  saved  little 
Billy's  life,  an'  one  day  while  I  was  lyin'  too  drunk 
to  hold  my  head  up  in  the  swamp  betwixt  her 
daddy's  house  an'  mine,  she  found  me  thar  an'  run 
an'  fetched  fresh  water  in  my  hat,  an'  bathed  my 
nasty,  bloated  face  with  her  wet  handkerchief,  an" 
kept  tellin'  me  to  brace  up  an'  not  go  home  that 
away  an'  make  my  wife  feel  bad.  She  done  that, 
Nelson  Floyd,  an',  by  the  holy  God,  ef  you  think  I'm 
a-goin'  to  set  idle  an'  even  think  thar's  a  bare  resk  o' 
her  bein'  made  unhappy  by  a  big,  strappin'  thing 
in  pants,  an'  a  vest,  an'  coat,  an'  a  blue  neck  tie, 
you've  got  little  enough  sense  to  need  a  guardeen 
to  look  after  yore  effects.  I  don't  say  thar  is 
danger  nor  thar  hain't,  but  I  seed  you  doin'  a 
thing  back  thar  on  the  road  that  didn't  strike  me 
as  bein'  plumb  right,  coupled  with  what  I  seed  when 
you  climbed  over  the  fence  o'  Nathan  Porter's 
orchard  nigh  midnight  not  long  back.  I've  already 
told  you  I  love  you  like  a  brother,  but  while  meetin' 
was  goin'  on  I  made  up  my  mind  to  say  this  to  you. 
I  got  down  at  the  preacher's  invite  an'  prayed  on  it, 
an'  I  went  forward  an'  give  'im  my  hand  on  it,  axin' 
the  sanction  o'  the  Lord  on  it,  an'  I'm  here  to  tell 
you  to  yore  teeth,  Nelson,  that  ef  a  hair  o'  that 
bonny  head  is  harmed  through  you  I  will  kill  you  as  I 
would  a  p'ison  snake!  Now,  I've  said  it.  I'd 'a' had 
to  say  it  ef  you  had  been  my  twin  brother,  an'  I'm 
not  a-goin'  to  be  sorry  fer  it,  nuther.  Yore  a  good, 
well  -  meanin'  young  man,  but  you  ain't  yorese'f 
when  you  give  way  to  hot  blood." 

Floyd  was  standing  behind  the  neck  of  his  horse, 
and  for  an  instant  Pole  could  not  see  his  face.  There 

«4S 


Pole    Baker 

was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  Floyd  came  round 
the  horse  and  stood  facing  the  mountaineer.  He 
was  pale,  his  lower  lip  was  twitching;  there  was  a 
look  in  his  eyes  Baker  had  never  seen  there  before. 

"Pole,"  he  said,  "I'd  shoot  any  other  man  on 
God's  earth  for  talking  to  me  as  you  have. 

"You  mean  you'd  try,  Nelson." 

"Yes,  I  mean  I'd  try;  but  I  can't  be  mad  at  you. 
We've  been  too  close  for  that,  Pole.  I  admire  you 
more  than  any  man  alive.  With  all  your  faults,  you 
have  done  more,  in  the  long  run,  to  lift  me  up  than 
any  other  influence.  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to 
you.  I — I  feel  your  words  keenly,  but  you  under 
stand  that  I  cannot,  after  what  you  have  said,  and 
the  way  you've  said  it,  make  promises.  That 
would  really  be — be  an  insult  to — to  the  lady  in 
question,  and  an  acknowledgment  that  no  brave 
man  could  make  to  another." 

"I  understand  that,  Nelson."  And  Pole,  with 
a  softened  face,  held  out  his  big,  warm  hand. 
"Shake,  old  boy.  Let  it  all  pass.  Now  that  you 
understand  me,  I'm  goin'  to  trust  you  like  a  friend. 
No  good  man  will  harm  the  sister  of  a  friend,  noway, 
an'  that's  what  she  is  to  me.  She's  my  little  sister, 
Nelson.  Now,  you  go  take  'er  home.  I  don't  like 
the  looks  o'  that  cloud  in  the  west,  an'  I  don't 
like  the  way  that  hoss  o'  your'n  keeps  layin'  back 
his  ears  an'  snortin'  at  ever'  leaf  that  blows  by." 


XVI 

JLOYD  drove  on  to  the  bush-arbor  and 
helped  Cynthia  into  the  buggy. 

"Was  that   Pole   Baker  talking  to 
you?"  she  questioned. 

_  "Yes,  he  wanted  to  speak  to  me," 

Floyd,  seriously.     "  He  unhitched  my  horse  and 
turned  him  around." 

"I  suppose  he  is  making  resolutions  to  reform?" 
Floyd  shrugged  his  shoulders  unconsciously. 
"Yes,  he's  always  doing  that  sort  of  thing.  He's 
afraid  there  may  be  a  storm,  too.  He's  the  best 
weather  prophet  I  know.  If  the  cloud  were  behind 
us  I  shouldn't  be  concerned  at  all,  for  Jack  could 
outrun  it." 

They  were  driving  into  a  lonely,  shaded  part  of 
the  road,  and  there  they  noticed  more  plainly  the 
darkness  that  had  rapidly  fallen  over  the  landscape. 
Cynthia  shivered,  and  Floyd  tried  to  see  the  ex 
pression  of  her  face,  but  she  was  looking  down  and 
he  was  unable  to  do  so. 

"Are  you  really  afraid?"  he  asked. 
"  I  was  thinking  about  how  narrow  the  road  is,"  she 
made  answer,  "  and  of  the  awful  cliffs  along  beside  it. 
Then  Jack  seems  restless  and  excited.  If  the  light 
ning  were  to  begin  to  flash,  or  should  strike  near 
us,  he  might— 

147 


Pole    Baker 

"Don't  worry,"  Floyd  broke  in,  calmly.  "It  is 
this  long,  dark  road  that  makes  you  nervous.  We'll 
get  out  of  it  in  a  few  minutes." 

But  they  were  delayed.  Jack,  frightened  at 
some  imaginary  object  ahead,  paused,  and  with  his 
fore-feet  firmly  planted  in  front  of  him,  he  stood 
snorting,  his  ears  thrown  back.  His  master  gently 
urged  him  to  go  on,  but  he  refused  to  move.  Then 
Floyd  touched  his  flanks  with  the  lash  of  the  whip, 
but  this  only  caused  the  animal  to  rear  up  in  a 
dangerous  manner  and  start  to  turn  round.  The 
road  was  too  narrow  for  this,  however,  and  throwing 
the  reins  into  Cynthia's  lap,  Floyd  got  out  and  went 
to  the  horse's  head,  and  holding  to  the  bridle,  he 
gently  stroked  the  face  and  neck  of  the  animal. 
But  although  Floyd  tried,  Jack  would  not  be  led 
forward.  The  situation  was  really  grave,  for  the 
time  was  passing  and  night  wras  already  upon  them. 
From  his  position  at  the  animal's  head,  Floyd  could 
barely  see  Cynthia  in  her  white  shawl  and  dress. 
Along  the  black  horizon  the  lightning  was  playing, 
and  the  rising  wind  bore  to  their  faces  fine  drops 
of  rain.  It  was  a  sudden  crash  of  thunder  be 
hind  them  that  made  the  horse  start  forward,  and 
it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  Floyd  got  into  the 
buggy  from  behind.  Then  they  dashed  forward  at  a 
perilous  speed.  On  they  went,  over  the  rough  road. 
Even  out  in  the  open  it  was  now  dark,  and  in  the 
distance  they  heard  the  ominous  roar  and  crash  of 
the  approaching  storm.  The  situation  was  indeed 
critical.  Once  more  they  ran  into  a  road  so  dark 
that  they  could  scarcely  see  Jack's  head.  Sud 
denly  Floyd  drew  rein,  stopped  the  quivering  horse, 

148 


Pole    Baker 

and  looked  closely  at  the  ground.  Cynthia  heard 
an  exclamation  of  dismay  escape  his  lips. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked.  He  made  no  answer  till 
she  had  repeated  her  question. 

"This  is  the  same  road  we  passed  over  half  an 
hour  ago,"  he  said.  "We  have  gone  the  wrong 
way.  We  are  lost,  little  girl!" 

Even  at  that  grave  moment  he  felt  a  thrill  of 
admiration  at  her  coolness. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "we  must  make  the  best  of  it 
and  not  get  excited.  If  we  lose  our  heads  there  is 
no  telling  what  may  happen." 

"What  a  brave  little  woman  you  are!"  he  said. 
"Do  you  remember?  The  road  forks  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  ahead ;  when  we  went  by  just  now, 
we  took  either  the  right  or  the  left,  but  I've  for 
gotten  which." 

"We  took  the  right,"  she  said.  "I  remember 
that  distinctly." 

"Then  we  must  take  the  left  this  time — that  is, 
if  you  are  sure." 

"I'm  very  sure," 

"Good;  then  we  must  drive  on  as  fast  as  we 
can." 

"You'd  better  go  slowly,"  Cynthia  cautioned 
him.  "The  road  is  very,  very  dangerous,  and  if 
Jack  should  become  frightened  as  we  are  passing 
a  cliff  there  is  no  telling  what— 

She  did  not  finish,  for  there  was  a  bright  flash  of 
lightning  in  their  faces,  followed  by  a  deafening  clap 
of  thunder  on  the  mountain-side  above  them.  With 
a  terrified  snort,  Jack  plunged  onward.  They 
reached  the  point  where  the  roads  divided,  and 

149 


Pole    Baker 

Floyd  managed  to  pull  the  animal  into  the  right  one. 
For  half  an  hour  they  sped  onward.  Every  effort 
Floyd  made  to  check  the  horse  was  foiled;  the 
spirited  animal  seemed  to  have  taken  the  bit  be 
tween  his  teeth.  Then  the  storm  broke  upon  them 
in  alarming  fury,  and  they  suddenly  found  them 
selves  before  a  high,  isolated  building.  The  horse, 
as  with  almost  human  instinct,  had  paused. 

"It's  Long's  mill,"  Floyd  told  Cynthia.  "It's 
not  in  use.  Pole  and  I  stopped  here  to  rest  when  we 
were  out  hunting  last  month.  The  door  is  not 
locked.  There  is  a  shed  and  stable  behind  for  horses. 
We  must  get  in  out  of  danger." 

Cynthia  hesitated.  "Is  it  the  only  thing?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  it  might  cost  us  our  lives  to  drive  on,  and 
it  is  two  miles  to  the  nearest  house." 

"  All  right,  then. "  He  was  already  on  the  ground, 
and  she  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  sprang 
down. 

"  Now,  run  up  the  steps,"  he  said.  "  The  door  opens 
easily.  I'll  lead  Jack  around  to  the  shed  and  be 
back  in  a  minute." 

She  obeyed,  and  when  he  returned  after  a  few 
moments  he  found  her  on  the  threshold  waiting  for 
him,  her  beautiful,  long  hair  blown  loose  by  the 
fierce  wind. 

They  stood  side  by  side  in  the  darkness  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  a  torrent  of  rain  dashed  down 
upon  the  roof  like  tons  of  solid  matter,  which  threat 
ened  to  crush  the  building  like  an  egg-shell.  He 
pushed  her  back,  and  with  a  great  effort  managed  to 
close  the  big  sliding-door. 

150 


Pole    Baker 

"We  must  keep  the  wind  out,"  he  said.  "If 
we  don't  the  mill  will  be  blown  away." 

It  was  now  too  dark  for  them  to  see  each  other 
at  all,  and  the  roar  of  the  storm  rendered  speech 
between  them  almost  impossible.  She  suddenly  felt 
his  hands  grasp  hers,  and  then  he  shouted,  as  he  held 
them  in  his  tight  clasp:  "There  is  a  big  pile  of 
fodder  over  there  against  the  wall.  Come,  sit  down. 
There  is  no  telling  how  long  this  may  last,  and  you  are 
already  fagged  out." 

She  offered  no  resistance,  and  he  cautiously  led 
her  through  the  darkness  till  he  felt  the  fodder 
under  his  feet.  Then  he  bent  down  and  raked  a 
quantity  of  it  together  and  again  took  her  hand. 

"Sit  here,"  he  said,  gently  pushing  her  down 
ward.  "  It  is  dry  and  warm." 

He  was  right.  The  soft  bed  of  sweet-smelling 
corn  leaves  felt  very  comfortable  to  the  tired  girl. 
He  laughed  out  impulsively  as  he  pulled  a  quantity 
of  the  fodder  near  to  her  and  sat  down  on  it,  locking 
his  arms  over  his  knees.  "  This  isn't  so  very  bad, 
after  all,"  he  said.  "You  know,  it  might  have  been 
a  great  deal  worse.  Jack's  well  housed,  and  this 
old  mill  has  withstood  a  thousand  storms." 

She  said  nothing,  and  he  leaned  nearer  till  his 
lips  almost  touched  her  ear. 

"Why  are  you  so  silent?"  he  asked.  "Are  you 
still  afraid?" 

"  No,  but  I  was  wondering  what  my  mother  will 
think,"  Cynthia  said.  "  She'll  be  sure  we  have  been 
killed." 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,"  Floyd  said,  cheerfully. 
"  I  gave  Pole  my  last  match,  or  I'd  take  a  smoke. 


Pole    Baker 

Why,  Cynthia,  you  don't  know  when  you  are  in  luck. 
I  feel  like  Providence  is  good  to  me.  I've  not  really 
had  you  much  to  myself  all  the  afternoon,  anyway, 
along  with  the  tiresome  preaching,  singing,  shout 
ing,  and  the  fast  riding  in  the  dark,  and  now — "  He 
reached  out  and  took  her  hand.  She  made  an 
effort  to  withdraw  it,  but  he  laughed  and  held  it 
firmly. 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  me,  dear,"  he  said.  And 
then,  as  in  a  flash,  a  picture  stood  before  him. 
He  saw  Pole  Baker  at  his  rough  bench  kneeling  in 
the  straw.  He  had  another  vision.  It  was  the 
gaunt  farmer  as  he  stalked  forward  to  shake  hands 
with  the  preacher.  Then  Floyd,  as  it  were,  stood 
facing  the  mountaineer,  and,  above  the  thunder  of 
the  raging  tempest  without,  Pole's  grim  warning 
broke  upon  the  ears  of  his  soul.  Floyd  sat  staring 
into  the  darkness.  He  saw  a  white  dove  fluttering 
in  a  grassy  spot  before  a  coiled  snake,  with  eyes  like 
living  diamonds.  A  shudder  passed  over  him,  and 
raising  Cynthia's  hand  to  his  lips  he  kissed  it  lightly, 
respectfully,  and  released  it. 

"Perhaps  you'd  rather  have  me  stay  near  the 
door,  little  girl,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  he  had  never  used 
to  her  before.  "You  were  thrown  here  with  me 
against  your  will,  and  I  shall  not  force  my  atten 
tions  upon  you.  Don't  be  afraid.  I'm  going  to 
the  door  and  sit  down.  I  can  see  the  road  from 
there,  and  as  soon  as  the  storm  is  over  I'll  come  for 
you." 

She  made  no  response,  and,  rising,  he  moved  away, 
taking  an  armful  of  the  corn-blades  with  him.  He 
found  a  place  against  the  wall,  near  the  door,  and 


Pole     Baker 

throwing  the  fodder  down  he  rested  upon  it,  his  long 
legs  stretched  out  upon  the  floor. 

"Thank  God!"  he  said.  "Pole  Baker  has  shot 
more  manhood  into  my  dirty  carcass  to-day  than  it 
ever  held  before.  I'll  take  care  of  your  little  sister, 
Pole.  She's  a  sweet,  dear,  noble,  brave  little  woman. 
There  is  not  another  such  a  one  on  earth.  Good 
God!  what  must  a  sensitive,  refined  creature  like  she 
is  think  of  an  affair  like  that  Jeff  Wade  business?" 

He  shuddered.  Pushing  some  of  the  fodder  under 
his  head,  he  reclined  at  full  length.  Something 
Pole  had  said  to  him  once  while  they  were  on  the 
river-bank  fishing  came  to  him.  "I  believe,"  the 
mountaineer  had  said,  with  his  eyes  on  his  line,  "  that 
the  Almighty  made  women  weak  in  their  very  sweet 
ness  an'  purity  an'  men  strong  in  evil.  An'  He 
lets  two  of  'em  come  together  in  this  life,  an'  stand 
side  by  side,  an'  ef  the  man  is  good  enough,  they  will 
grow  together  an'  work  fer  good  an'  perfect  happi 
ness.  But  ef  he's  evil,  he  kin  put  out  his  slimy 
arms  an'  draw  her  into  his  own  cesspool  like  a 
water  -  moccasin  coiled  round  a  pond -lily.  It  is 
with  the  man  to  make  or  damn  his  chances  of 
contentment  in  life,  an'  when  he's  soaked  in  evil  he 
not  only  damns  hisse'f  but  all  he  touches." 

Floyd  closed  his  eyes.  His  admiration  for  Pole 
Baker  had  never  been  so  intense.  For  perhaps  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  the  sting  of  the  hot  blood 
of  shame  in  his  face. 

"I'll  take  care  of  your  little  sister,  Pole,"  he 
said.  "I'll  do  it— I'll  do  it!" 

He  closed  his  eyes.  The  storm  was  beating  more 
steadily  now.  His  thoughts  became  a  delicious  blur. 


Pole    Baker 

He  was  asleep.  Several  hours  must  have  passed. 
He  waked,  sat  up,  and  looked  about  him ;  it  was  not 
so  dark  now,  and  while  it  was  still  raining,  the  noise 
of  the  falling  drops  was  not  so  loud.  He  stood  up 
and  stretched  himself.  From  the  stiffness  of  his 
limbs  he  knew  he  had  slept  a  long  time. 

"Cynthia!"  he  called  out,  but  there  was  no  reply. 
"Cynthia!"  he  called  again,  but  still  only  his  own 
voice  rang  out  above  the  falling  rain  and  whistling 
wind.  He  groped  forward.  In  the  darkness  he  saw 
her  white  dress  like  a  drift  of  snow  against  the  pile 
of  fodder.  He  bent  over  her  and  touched  her. 
She  sat  up  with  a  start. 

"You've  been  asleep,  too,"  he  laughed. 

"Oh,  have  I?"  she  exclaimed.  "I — I — forgot 
where  I  was,  and  I  was  so  tired.  Is — is  the  rain 
over?  Can  we  go  on  now?" 

"  Not  yet,  I'm  afraid,  Cynthia,"  he  said,  consoling 
ly.  "  If  you  don't  object  to  staying  here  alone,  I'll 
go  outside  and  look  around.  I  want  to  see  if  we  can 
cross  the  mill  creek.  Sometimes  it  gets  very  high." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid,"  she  assured  him.  "There's 
nothing  here  to  be  afraid  of." 

"Some  women  would  imagine  the  mill  was  full  of 
tramps  or  escaped  negro  convicts,"  he  laughed,  "  but 
you  are  different,  little  girl.  You  are  plucky.  I'll 
be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

He  returned  very  soon,  stamping  his  wet  boots 
on  the  mill  steps.  "The  rain  is  about  over,"  he 
told  her.  "The  sky  in  the  east  is  clearing  up;  in 
fact,  it  is  almost  daybreak.  Cynthia,  we  have  both 
slept  longer  than  we  had  any  idea  of.  But  the 
worst  part  of  the  business  is  that  the  creek  is  out  of 


Pole    Baker 

its  banks  and  we  can't  get  across  till  it  runs  down; 
but  that  won't  take  long.  We  can  start  for  home 
about  sunrise,  and  then  we  can  go  like  the  wind. 
Jack  will  want  his  breakfast." 

She  said  nothing,  but  he  fancied  he  heard  her  sigh. 
She  started  to  rise  and  he  put  out  his  hand.  She 
gave  him  hers  with  a  strange,  new  show  of  con 
fidence  that  touched  him,  thrilled  him,  and  sent  a 
flush  of  vague  gratification  over  him. 

"You  are  disappointed,"  he  said,  tentatively. 

With  her  hand  still  in  his  they  walked  to  the  door 
and  looked  out  towards  the  pale  sky  in  the  east. 

"I  was  wondering  what  my  mother  will  think," 
she  said.  "  She  won't  like  this  at  all.  But  you  know, 
Nel — you  know,  Mr.  Floyd,  that  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"Of  course  not,"  he  said,  frowning  darkly. 
"  Stopping  here  really  saved  our  lives.  She'll  have 
to  see  that.  You  can  make  her  see  it,  Cynthia." 

"She's  very  peculiar,"  Cynthia  sighed.  "The 
smallest  things  almost  drive  her  insane.  The  rain 
is  over ;  don't  you  think  we  could  go  some  other  way 
and  avoid  the  creek?" 

"Why,  yes,  we  could  drive  back  to  the  Hillcrest 
road,  but  it  would  take  two  hours  longer." 

"  Well,  we  would  have  to  wait  here  that  long 
wouldn't  we?" 

"  Yes,  it's  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other," 
he  smiled.  "  If  you'd  rather  be  in  the  buggy  and 
on  the  move,  why,  we  can  start." 

"I  think  I  had,"  she  said. 

"  All  right ;  you  are  the  doctor,"  he  laughed.  "  I'll 
get  Jack  out  and  have  him  hitched  to  the  buggy 
in  a  minute." 


XVII 

'HE  sun — and  it  had  never  seemed  to 
shine  so  brightly  before — had  been  up 
about  half  an  hour  when  the  couple 
drove  up  to  Porter's  gate. 

"There's  mother  at  the  window 
now,"  Cynthia  said,  as  she  got  out  of  the  buggy.  "  I 
can  see  that  she's  angry  even  from  here." 

"I'll  hitch  Jack  and  go  in  and  explain,"  offered 
Floyd. 

"Oh  no,  don't!"  Cynthia  said,  quickly.  "I'll  tell 
her  all  about  it.  Go  on.  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,  then,"  Floyd  said,  and  he  drove  on  to 
the  village. 

But  Mrs.  Porter  did  not  come  to  the  door  to  meet 
her  as  Cynthia  expected.  The  girl  found  her  alone 
in  the  sitting-room  seated  sulkily  at  the  fireplace, 
where  a  few  sticks  of  damp  wood  were  burning 
gloomily." 

"Well,  where  did  you  spend  the  night?"  the  old 
woman  asked,  icily. 

Cynthia  stood  before  her,  withered  to  her  soul  by 
the  tone  in  which  her  mother's  question  had  been 
asked. 

"You  are  not  going  to  like  it  a  bit,  mother,"  the 
girl  said,  resignedly.  "The  storm  overtook  us  just 
as  we  got  to  Long's  mill.  The  horse  was  frightened 

156 


Pole    Baker 

and  about  to  run  away  and  the  road  was  awfully 
dangerous.  There  was  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to 
go  in." 

"Long's  mill!  Oh,  my  God!  there  is  no  one 
living  there,  nor  in  miles  of  it!" 

"I  know  it,  mother." 

Mrs.  Porter  buried  her  pale,  wrinkled  face  in 
her  hands  and  leaned  forward  in  her  chair,  her  sharp 
elbows  on  her  knees. 

"I'm  never  going  to  get  over  this!"  she  groaned 
— "never — never;  and  you  are  my  only  child!" 

"Mother!"  Cynthia  bent  down  and  almost  with 
anger  drew  the  old  woman's  hand  from  her  face. 
"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?  Do  you  know 
that — that  you  may  drive  me  from  home  with  that 
insinuation?" 

Mrs.  Porter  groaned.  She  got  up  stiffly,  and,  like 
a  mechanical  thing  moved  by  springs,  she  caught 
her  daughter's  wrist  and  led  her  to  a  window, 
sternly  staring  at  her  from  her  great,  sunken  eyes. 
"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  and  that 
man  sat  together  all  the  live -long  night  in  that 
mill?" 

"  Mother,  I  was  completely  tired  out.  There  was 
some  fodder  on  the  floor.  I  sat  down  on  it,  and  after 
a  long  time  I  dropped  asleep.  He  did  too.  He  was 
near  the  door,  and  I — " 

Mrs.  Porter  extended  the  stiff  fingers  of  her  hand 
and  plucked  a  piece  of  fodder  from  Cynthia's  hair, 
and  held  it  sneeringly  up  to  the  light.  "  It's  a  pity 
you  didn't  have  a  comb  and  brush  with  you,"  she 
said.  You'd  have  been  supplied  at  a  hotel.  Your 
hair  is  all  in  a  mess.  I'm  going  to  keep  this  little 


Pole     Baker 

thing.  Light  as  it  is,  it  has  knocked  life  and  hope 
out  of  me." 

Cynthia  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  moment,  and 
then  turned  from  the  room.  "I'm  not  going  to 
defend  myself  against  such  suspicions  as  you  have," 
she  said  from  the  door.  "  I  know  what  I  am,  if  you 
don't." 

"  I  reckon  this  whole  county  will  know  what  you 
are  before  many  days,"  snarled  Mrs.  Porter.  "  Minnie 
Wade  had  somebody  in  her  family  with  enough 
manhood  in  'im  to  want  to  defend  her  honor,  but 
you  haven't.  Your  sleepy-headed  old  father — 

The  girl  was  gone.  For  several  minutes  the  old 
woman  stood  quivering  in  the  warm  sunlight  at  the 
window,  and  then  she  stalked  calmly  through  the 
dining-room  and  kitchen  and  out  to  the  barn.  One 
of  the  stable-doors  was  open,  and  she  could  see  her 
husband  inside. 

"Nathan  Porter!"  she  called  out—  "you  come 
here.  I've  got  something  to  tell  you." 

"All  right,"  he  answered.  "I'll  be  thar  in  a 
minute.  Bern  yore  lazy  soul,  hain't  I  give  you 
enough  corn  to  eat  without  you  havin'  to  chaw  up 
a  brand-new  trough?  I'm  a  good  mind  to  take  this 
curry-comb  an'  bust  yore  old  head  with  it!" 

"Nathan  Porter,  I  say,  come  out  here!  Let  that 
horse  alone!" 

"All  right,  I'm  a-comin'.  Now,  I  reckon  I'll 
have  to  fetch  a  hammer  an'  saw  an'  nails  an'  buy 
planks  to  make  another  trough,  jest  fer  you  to 
chaw  up  into  powder. ' ' 

"Nathan  Porter,  do  you  hear  me?" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  ef  I  don't,  they  do  over  at 
158 


Pole     Baker 

Baker's,"  and  the  farmer,  bareheaded  and  without 
his  coat,  came  from  the  stable. 

"That  blasted  hoss  has  deliberately  set  to  work 
an'  chaw— 

"  Nathan  Porter  "  — the  old  woman  thrust  her  slim 
fingers  into  his  face — "do  you  see  that  piece  of 
fodder?" 

"Yes,  I  see  it.  Is  it  a  sample  o'  last  year's  crop? 
Are  you  buyin'  or  sellin'  ?  You  mought  'a'  fetched 
a  bundle  of  it.  A  tiny  scrap  like — 

"I  got  that  out  o'  Cynthia's  hair." 

"You  don't  say!  It  must  be  a  new  sort  o'  orna 
ment!  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  see  a  woman 
with  a  bundle  of  it  under  each  arm  on  the  front 
bench  at  meetin'  after  seein'  them  Wilson  gals 
t'other  night  ready  fer  the  dance  with  flour  in  the'r 
hair  an'  the  ace  o'  spades  pasted  on  the'r  cheeks." 

"Cynthia  and  Nelson  Floyd  stayed  all  night  in 
Long's  mill,"  panted  Mrs.  Porter.  "There  wasn't 
another  soul  there  nor  in  miles  of  it." 

"  Huh,  you  don't  say!"  the  farmer  sniffed.  "  I  reck 
on  ef  they  had  'a'  sent  out  a  proclamation  through  the 
country  that  they  was  goin'  to  stay  thar  a  lot  o'  folks 
would  'a'  waded  through  the  storm  to  be  present." 

"I  got  this  out  of  her  hair,  I  tell  you!"  the  old 
woman  went  on,  fiercely.  "Her  head  was  all 
messed  up,  and  so  was  her  dress.  If  you've  got 
any  manhood  in  you,  you'll  go  to  town  and  call 
Nelson  Floyd  out  and  settle  this  thing." 

"Huh!  Me  go  to  his  store  on  his  busiest  day  an' 
ax  'im  about  a  piece  o'  fodder  no  bigger  'n  a  gnat's 
wing?  He'd  tell  me  I  was  a  dern  fool,  an'  I'd 
deserve  it.  Oh,  I  see  what  you  are  a-drivin'  at,  an* 


Pole     Baker 

I  tell  you  it  gits  me  out  o'  patience.  You  women  are 
so  dad  blasted  suspicious  an'  guilty  at  the  bottom 
yorese'ves  that  you  imagine  bad  acts  is  as  plenti 
ful  as  the  leaves  on  the  ground  in  the  fall.  Now, 
let  me  tell  you,  you  hain't  obeying  the  Scriptural 
injunction  to  judge  not  lest  ye  be  judged  accord- 
in'ly.  I  want  you  to  let  that  little  gal  an'  her 
sweetheart  business  alone.  You  hain't  a  -  runnin' 
it.  You  don't  have  to  live  with  the  feller  she  picks 
out,  an'  you  hain't  no  say  whatever  in  the  matter. 
Nur  you  h'aint  got  no  say,  nuther,  as  to  the  way 
she  does  her  particular  courtin'.  The  Lord  knows, 
nobody  was  kind  enough  to  put  in  away  back 
thar  when  you  was  makin'  sech  a  dead  set  fer  me. 
Folks  talk  a  little  about  Floyd,  but  let  me  tell  you 
my  own  character  them  days  wasn't  as  white  as 
snow.  I  don't  know  many  men  wuth  the'r  salt 
that  hain't  met  temptation.  I  sorter  cut  a  wide 
swath  'fore  I  left  the  turf,  an'  you  know  it. 
Didn't  I  hear  you  say  once  that  you  reckoned  you 
never  would  'a'  tuck  me  ef  I'd  'a'  been  after  you 
day  an'  night?  You  knowed  thar  was  other  fish 
in  the  sea,  an'  you  didn't  have  any  bait  to  speak  of, 
with  them  Turner  gals  an'  the'r  nigger  slaves  an' 
plantations  in  the'r  own  right  livin'  next  door  to 
pa's.  Yore  old  daddy  said  out  open  that  you  an' 
yore  sister  needn't  expect  a  dollar  from  him;  he'd 
educated  you,  an'  that  was  all  he  could  do.  I  hain't 
grumblin',  mind  you.  I  never  cry  over  spilt  milk; 
it  hain't  sensible.  It  don't  help  a  body  out  of  a  bad 
matter  into  a  better  one." 

"Oh,  I  wish  you'd  hush  and  listen  to  me."    Mrs. 
Porter  had  not  heard  half  he  had  said.     "  I  tell  you 

160 


Pole    Baker 

Cynthia  and  that  man  stayed  all  night  long  in  that 
lonely  mill  together,  an'  she  came  home  at  sun 
rise  this  morning  all  rumpled  up  and — " 

"Now,  you  stop  right  thar!  You  stop  right 
thar!"  Porter  said,  with  as  much  sternness  as  he 
could  command.  "As  to  stayin'  in  that  mill  all 
by  the'rse'ves,  I  want  you  jest  to  put  on  yore 
thinkin'-cap,  ef  the  old  thing  hain't  wore  clean 
to  tatters  or  laid  away  till  it's  moth-et.  Do  you  re 
member  when  that  lonely  old  widder  Pelham  pegged 
out  durin'  our  courtin' -  time?  You  do?  Well! 
We  went  thar — you  an'  me  did — expectin'  to  meet 
the  Trabue  crowd,  an'  that  passle  o'  young  folks 
from  Hanson's,  to  set  up  with  the  corpse.  Well, 
when  me  'n'  you  got  thar  about  eight  o'clock  the 
Trabue  crowd  sent  word  that  as  long  as  the  Hanson 
lay-out  was  comin',  they  believed  they  wouldn't 
drive  so  fur ;  an'  right  on  top  o'  that  come  a  message 
from  the  Hanson  folks,  sayin'  that  you  an'  me  an'  the 
Trabues  was  as  many  as  the  little  house  would  hold, 
so  they  would  stay  away;  an'  thar  you  an'  me  was 
with  nobody  to  make  us  behave  but  a  dead  woman, 
an'  her  screwed  down  tight  in  a  box.  I  remember  as 
clear  as  day  that  you  laughed  an'  said  you  didn't 
care,  an'  you  set  in  to  makin'  coffee  an'  cookin'  eggs 
an'  one  thing  another  to  keep  us  awake  an'  make 
me  think  you  was  handy  about  a  house.  Well, 
now,  here's  the  moral  to  that  tale.  The  neighbors 
— tough  as  my  record  was — was  kind  enough  not  to 
say  nasty  things  about  us  afterwards,  an'  it  hain't 
Christian  or  motherly  of  you  to  start  a  tale  about  our 
gal  when  as  big  a  storm  as  that  driv'  her  an'  her 
beau  in  out  o'  danger.  Besides,  I  tell  you,  you  are 

161 


Pole    Baker 

standin'  in  Cynthia's  light.  She's  got  as  good  a 
right  to  the  best  in  the  land  as  anybody,  an'  I 
believe  Nelson  Floyd  is  goin'  to  git  married  sooner 
or  later.  He's  had  a  chance  to  look  over  the  field, 
an'  I  hope  she'll  suit  'im.  I  never  made  money 
by  marry  in',  myself,  an'  I  sorter  like  the  idea  o' 
my  child  gittin'  a  comfortable  berth.  That  gal  hain't 
no  common  person  nohow.  She'll  show  off  a  fine 
house  as  well  as  any  woman  in  this  state.  She's  got 
sense,  an'  a  plenty  of  it;  folks  say  she's  like  me." 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 
Mrs.  Porter  was  looking  at  the  ground.  Her  hard 
face  had  softened ;  she  was  drawn  perforce  to  words 
at  her  husband's  view  of  the  matter.  His  rebuke 
rang  harshly  in  her  ears.  She  turned  towards  the 
house  and  took  several  steps,  then  she  looked  back. 
"I  pray  God  you  are  right,  Nathan,"  she  said. 
"Maybe  all  the  worry  I  had  through  the  night  has 
made  me  unable  to  see  the  matter  fairly." 

"That's  it!"  said  Porter,  as  he  leaned  on  the 
fence;  "  and  let  me  tell  you,  if  you  don't  quit  makin' 
so  many  mountains  out  o'  mole-hills,  an'  worryin' 
at  sech  a  rate,  you'll  go  like  yore  sister  Martha  did. 
Try  worryin'  about  yorese'f  awhile;  ef  I  thought  as 
mean  about  my  own  child  as  you  do  I'd  bother 
about  the  condition  o'  my  soul." 

With  her  head  hanging  low,  Mrs.  Porter  walked 
slowly  to  the  house.  Her  view  was  more  charitable 
and  clearer,  though  she  was  so  constituted  that  she 
could  not  at  once  obey  her  inclination  to  apologize 
to  her  daughter. 

"I'm  actually  afraid  I'm  losing  my  mind,"  she 
said.  "I  am  acting  exactly  as  Sister  Martha  did." 

162 


XVIII 

T  was  a  warm  morning  on  the  first  day 
of  June.     Pole  Baker  lay  on  the  thick 
grass,  near  the  door  of  the  court-house, 
talking  to  Jim  Garden,  a   little   shoe 
maker  from  Darley. 
"Didn't  Nelson  Floyd  go  in  the  court-house  jest 
now?"  Pole  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  shoemaker,  in  his  high  voice; 
"  him  an'  Colonel  Price  was  settin'  here  fer  half  an' 
hour  'fore  you  come,  talkin'  about  a  trade.  Price  is 
tryin'  to  sell  'im  his  plantation,  an'  that  big  house 
completely  furnished.  I'd  rather  see  Floyd's  eyes 
when  he's  on  a  trade  than  anything  I  ever  looked 
at.  They  shine  like  twin  stars.  But  I  don't  be 
lieve  they'll  trade.  They  are  too  far  apart." 

"  This  section  is  chock  full  o'  keen  men,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,"  remarked  Pole.  "  Old  settlers 
say  that  a  long  time  ago  seven  Jews  settled  here, 
intendin'  to  git  rich,  an'  that  these  mountain  men 
got  all  they  had,  an'  the  Jews  literally  starved  to 
death.  Thar  hain't  been  one  in  the  county  since." 
"Our  folks  certainly  are  hard  to  down,"  said 
Garden.  "  Do  you  know  that  long,  slim  chap  in 
front  o'  Floyd's  store?  That's  one  o'  the  Bowen 
boys,  from  Gilmer — I  mean  the  feller  at  the  cov 
ered  wagon." 

163 


Pole     Baker 

"Know  'im?  I  reckon  I  do,"  Pole  laughed, 
"That's  Alf  Bowen.  I  had  a  round  with  'im  one 
day.  It  was  in  the  fall  o'  the  year,  an'  they  was  so 
busy  at  Mayhew  &  Floyd's  that  they  pulled  me  into 
service.  I'm  a  purty  good  salesman  when  I'm  about 
half  loaded.  Well,  Alf  come  in  leadin'  his  little  gal 
by  the  hand,  an'  said  he  wanted  to  fit  'er  out  in  a 
cloak.  Joe  Peters  hung  to  'im  fer  half  an'  hour, 
but  everything  he'd  show  the  feller  was  too  high,  or 
not  good  enough,  an  Joe  switched  'im  off  on  me. 
Joe  was  afeard  ef  the  skunk  went  out  that  some 
more  that  was  with  'im  would  follow,  an'  they  was 
buyin'  a  little,  now  an'  then.  Well,  do  you  know, 
Jim,  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  sell  that  feller  a  cloak 
ef  I  had  to  do  it  below  cost  an'  make  up  the  dif 
ference  myself.  Old  Uncle  Abner  Daniel  was  thar 
settin'  on  a  nail-keg,  a-spittin'  an'  a-chawin'  an' 
pokin'  fun  at  me.  As  I  was  passin'  'im  he  cocked 
his  eye  up  an'  said,  said  he:  'Pole,  I'll  bet  you  a 
segar  you  cayn't  sell  'im.'  'Done,'  said  I.  Til 
go  you,'  an'  I  set  to  work  in  earnest.  Alf  had 
sorter  intimated  that  six  dollars  was  his  cloak-limit, 
an'  I  drawed  Joe  Peters  round  behind  a  stack  o' 
boxes,  an'  axed  'im  ef  we  had  anything  as  low  as  that. 
Joe  said  no,  we  didn't,  but,  said  he, '  sometimes  when 
we  git  short,  we  run  into  Glenn's  store  next  door  an' 
take  out  an'  article  on  trial,  an'  ef  we  sell  it,  we  git  it 
at  cost.'  Well,  I  happened  to  know  that  Glenn 
had  some  cloaks  in,  so  I  went  back  to  my  customer 
an'  told  'im  that  we  had  jest  got  in  a  box  o'  cloaks 
the  day  before,  but  they  was  in  the  cellar  unopened, 
an'  ef  he'd  wait  a  minute,  I'd  bust  the  box  an'  see  ef 
thar  was  any  low-priced  cloaks  in  the  lot.  Bowen 's 

164 


Pole     Baker 

eyes  sorter  danced,  an'  he  said  he  had  plenty  o'  time. 
So  I  picked  up  a  hammer  an'  run  down  in  the  cellar. 
I  knocked  at  an  empty  box,  an'  kicked  over  a  barrel 
or  two,  an'  then  scooted  out  at  the  back  door  an' 
round  into  Glenn's  shebang.  '  Sam,'  said  I, '  have  you 
got  a  cloak  that  you  kin  let  us  have  so  we  kin  sell  it 
at  six  dollars  an'  make  any  profit?'  He  studied  a 
minute,  an'  then  he  said  he  'lowed  he  had  jest  the 
thing,  an'  he  went  an'  got  one  an'  fetched  it  to  me. 
'  This  un,'  said  he, '  is  all  right  except  this  little  ripped 
place  here  under  the  arm,  but  any  woman  kin  fix 
that  in  a  minute.  I  kin  let  you  have  it,  Pole,  fer 
five-fifty.'  Well,  sir,  I  grabbed  it  an'  darted  back 
into  our  cellar,  knocked  once  or  twice  more  with  the 
hammer,  an'  run  up  to  Alf  an'  the  gal.  '  Here's  one,' 
said  I.  '  It's  an  eight-dollar  garment,  but  in  drawin' 
it  out  o'  the  box  jest  now  I  ripped  it  a  little,  but  any 
woman  kin  fix  that  in  a  minute.  Now,  bein'  as  it's 
you,  Alf,'  said  I,  'an'  we  want  yore  trade,  I'll  make 
it  to  you  at  first  cost  without  the  freight  from 
Baltimore.  I  kin  give  you  this  thing,  Alf,'  said  I, 
fer  six  dollars. ' 

"  Well,  sir,  I  thought  I  had  'im,  an'  was  winkin'  at 
Uncle  Ab,  when  Bowen  sorter  sniffed  an'  stuck  his 
long  finger  through  the  hole.  'Shucks!'  said  he. 
'  Sam  Glenn  offered  me  that  cloak  fer  four  dollars  an' 
a  half  two  weeks  ago.  I  could  'a'  got  it  fer  four, 
but  I  wouldn't  have  it.  It's  moth-et." 

Garden  threw  himself  back  on  the  grass  and 
laughed.  "What  the  devil  did  you  do?"  he  asked. 

"Do?— nothin'.  What  could  I  do?  I  jest 
grinned  an'  acknowledged  the  corn.  The  joke  was 
agin  me.  An'  the  funny  part  of  it  was  the  feller 

165 


Pole    Baker 

was  so  dead  in  earnest  he  didn't  see  anything  to 
laugh  at.  Ef  I'd  a-been  in  his  place  I'd  'a'  hollered." 

"Did  you  give  Uncle  Ab  his  cigar?"  the  shoe 
maker  asked. 

"  I  offered  it  to  'im,  Jim,  but  he  wouldn't  take  it. 
I  axed  'im  why.  '  Beca'se,'  said  he, '  I  was  bettin'  on 
a  certainty.'  'How's  that?'  said  I.  'Why,'  said 
he,  '  I  seed  Alf  Bowen  buy  a  cloak  fer  that  gal  at 
the  fire  sale  over  at  Darley  two  weeks  ago.  He 
was  just  lookin'  around  to  see  ef  he'd  got  bit.": 

Pole  saw  Floyd  coming  out  of  the  court-house 
and  went  to  him.  "I  understand  you  an'  Price 
are  on  a  deal,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  but  we  are  far  apart,"  Floyd  answered, 
pleasantly.  "He  offers  me  his  entire  two  thousand 
acres  and  furnished  house  for  twenty-five  thousand. 
As  I  told  him,  Pole,  I  could  draw  the  money  out  of 
other  investments  an'  take  the  property,  but  I 
couldn't  see  profit  in  it  above  twenty  thousand." 

"It's  wuth  all  he  asks  fer  it,"  Pole  said,  wisely. 

"  I  know  it  is,  to  any  man  who  wants  to  live  on  it, 
but  if  I  buy  it,  I'd  have  to  hire  a  good  man  to 
manage  it,  and,  altogether,  I  can't  see  my  way  to  put 
more  than  twenty  thousand  in  it.  He's  anxious  to 
sell.  He  and  his  wife  want  to  move  to  Atlanta,  to 
be  with  their  married  daughter." 

They  were  walking  towards  Floyd's  store,  and 
Pole  paused  in  the  street.  "Are  you  busy  right 
now,  Nelson?"  he  asked,  his  face  wearing  a  serious 
look. 

"Not  at  all,  Pole." 

"Well,  I've  got  some'n'  to  say  to  you,  Nelson. 
I'm  goin'  to  acknowledge  that  thar's  one  thing  I've 

166 


Pole    Baker 

wanted  to  do  fer  you  more,  by  hunkey,  than  any 
thing  in  the  world.  Nelson,  I've  always  hoped  that 
I'd  run  across  some  clew  that  'ud  eventually  lead 
to  you  findin'  out  who  yore  kin  are." 

"That's  good  of  you,  Pole,"  responded  Floyd,  in  a 
sincere  tone.  "  It  is  a  thing  I  am  more  interested  in 
than  anything  else  in  the  world."  The  young  mer 
chant  laughed  mechanically.  "Pole,  if  the  lowest- 
looking  tramp  you  ever  saw  in  your  life  were  to 
come  here,  and  I  found  out  he  was  even  a  distant 
cousin  of  mine,  I'd  look  on  him  with  reverence.  I'd 
fit  him  out  in  new  clothes  and  give  him  money,  and 
never  want  to  lose  sight  of  him.  Why  I  feel  that 
way  I  don't  know,  but  it  is  planted  deep  down 
inside." 

"I  knew  you  felt  that  away,"  said  Pole,  "and,  as 
I  say,  I  want  to  help.  Now,  Nelson,  all  my  life 
folks  has  said  I  was  keen  about  tracin'  things  out. 
In  my  moonshinin'  day,  an'  since  then,  in  helpin' 
old  Ab  Daniel  an'  Alan  Bishop  in  that  timber  deal, 
an'  in  one  way  an'  another,  I've  always  been  good 
at  readm'  men  an'  the'r  faces  an'  voices.  Now,  I 
reckon  what  Captain  Duncan  said  that  day  about 
his  talk  with  that  feller  Floyd — Henry  A.  Floyd — in 
Atlanta  went  in  at  one  o'  yore  ears  an'  out  at 
t'other,  but  it  didn't  with  me.  I've  studied  about 
that  thing  night  an'  day  ever  since,  an'  yesterday 
I  had  a  talk  with  Duncan.  I  made  'im  go  over  what 
him  an'  Floyd  said,  word  fer  word,  an'  I'm  here  to 
tell  you  that  I  want  yore  consent  to  see  that  old 
man  myself.  I've  got  to  go  down  to  the  United 
States  court  to-morrow  to  see  Judge  Spence,  about 
leniency  in  old  Paxton's  moonshine  case,  an'  I'll  have 

167 


Pole    Baker 

time  on  my  hands.  I  wish  you'd  consent  to  let  me 
talk,  in  a  roundabout  way,  of  course,  to  that  man 
Floyd.  Captain  Duncan  made  a  big  mistake  in 
sayin'  so  much  about  yore  bad  luck  in  yore  child 
hood  an'  nothin'  about  what  you've  since  made  of 
yourself.  A  man  as  pore  as  Floyd  is,  an'  as  proud, 
wouldn't  care  to  rake  up  kin  with  a  man  like  Dun 
can  showed  you  to  be.  The  captain  had  an  idea 
that  ef  he  got  the  old  chap's  pity  up  he'd  find  out 
what  he  wanted  to  know,  but  a  man  of  that  stripe 
don't  pity  no  unfortunate  man  nor  want  to  claim 
kin  with  'im.  From  the  way  Duncan  talked  to  me, 
I  have  an  idea  that  old  man  was  keepin'  back 
some'n'." 

Floyd  was  looking  at  his  rough  friend  with  eyes 
full  of  emotion.  "  I'd  rather  have  you  do  a  thing  of 
that  kind,  Pole,  than  any  man  alive,"  he  said.  "  And 
I  can  trust  your  judgment  and  tact,  too.  I  confess 
I  am  not  hopeful  in  that  particular  direction,  but 
if  you  want  to  see  the  man,  why,  do  it.  I  certain 
ly  appreciate  your  interest,  and  next  time  I  hope 
you  will  not  wait  to  ask  my  consent.  I  trust  the 
whole  matter  to  you." 

"Well,"  the  mountaineer  smiled,  "  I  may  be  away 
off  in  my  calculations,  and  make  nothin'  by  it, 
but  I  want  to  try  my  hand.  Thar  comes  Colonel 
Price.  I'll  bet  a  new  hat  he'll  come  to  yore  offer 
before  long.  You  jest  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  an' 
don't  bring  up  the  subject  of  yore  own  accord;  he'll 
do  the  talkin'." 


XIX 

!  HEN  he  had  finished  his  interview  with 
Judge  Spence  in  Atlanta  the  next  day, 
Pole  went  to  a  drug-store  and  looked 
up  the  address  of  Henry  A.  Floyd  in  the 
city  directory.  The  old  bachelor  lived 
on  Peachtree  Street,  about  half  a  mile  from  the 
Union  Depot,  in  a  rather  antiquated  story-and-a-half 
frame  house,  which  must  have  been  built  before  the 
Civil  War.  The  once  white  paint  on  its  outside  had 
turned  to  a  weather-beaten  gray,  and  the  old-fash 
ioned  blinds,  originally  bright  green  in  color,  had 
faded,  and  hung  loosely  on  rusty  hinges.  There  was 
a  little  lawn  in  front  which  stretched  from  the  gate- 
less  iron  fence  to  the  low -floored  veranda,  but  it 
held  scarcely  a  tuft  of  grass,  the  ground  being  bare 
in  some  places  and  in  others  weed  -  grown.  Pole 
went  to  the  door  and  rang.  He  was  kept  waiting 
for  several  minutes  before  a  middle-aged  woman, 
evidently  a  servant  of  all  work  or  house  -  keeper, 
appeared. 

"Is  Mr.  Floyd  about?"  Pole  asked,  politely,  doff 
ing  his  slouch  hat. 

"He's  back  in  the  garden  behind  the  house,"  the 

woman  said.     "If  you'll  wait  here  I'll  go  call  him." 

"All  right,  ma'am,"  Pole  said.     "I'll  wait;  I've 

got  plenty  o'  time."     She  went  away,  and  he  sat 

169 


Pole    Baker 

down  on  a  rickety  bench  on  the  veranda,  his  hat 
still  in  his  hands,  his  eyes  on  the  passing  carriages 
and  street-cars. 

Presently  the  owner  of  the  house  appeared  round 
the  corner.  He  was  tall,  clerical  looking,  ashy  as  to 
complexion,  slightly  bald,  had  sunken  cheeks  over 
which  grew  thin,  iron -gray  side  -  whiskers,  and  a 
despondent  stoop. 

"I'll  have  to  git  at  that  old  skunk  through  his 
pocket,"  Pole  reflected,  as  his  keen  eyes  took  in 
every  detail  of  the  man's  make-up.  "He  looks  like 
he's  bothered  about  some'n',  an'  a  man  like  that's 
hard  to  git  pinned  down ;  an'  ef  I  don't  git  'im  in 
terested,  he'll  kick  me  out  o'  this  yard.  I'll  be 
derned  ef  he  don't  favor  Nelson  a  little  about  the 
head  an'  eyes." 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Floyd?"  Pole  stood  up  and 
extended  his  hand.  "  Baker's  my  name,  sir ;  from 
up  the  country.  I  was  on  yore  farm  in  Bartow  not 
long  ago,  an'  I  sorter  liked  the  lay  o'  the  land.  Bein' 
as  I  was  down  here  on  business,  anyhow,  I  'lowed 
I'd  drap  in  an'  ax  ef  you  had  any  part  o'  that  place 
you'd  care  to  rent.  I've  jest  got  two  hosses,  but  I 
want  to  put  in  about  thirty  acres." 

A  slight  touch  of  life  seemed  to  struggle  into  the 
wan  face  of  the  old  man  for  a  moment. 

"I've  got  just  about  that  many  acres  unrented," 
he  said.  "  The  rest  is  all  let  out.  You'd  have  good 
neighbors,  Mr.— 

"Baker,  sir — Pole  Baker,"  the  caller  put  in. 

"And  good  fertile  land,  too,  Mr.  Baker.  May  I 
ask  if  you  intend  to  rent  on  the  part-crop  plan  or  for 
cash?" 

170 


Pole     Baker 

Pole's  eyes  twinkled  as  they  rested  on  a  pair  of 
fine  horses  and  glittering  carriage  that  were  passing. 
"Ef  I  rent  yore'n,  Mr.  Floyd,  I'll  pay  cash." 

"Well,  that  certainly  is  the  wisest  plan,  Mr. 
Baker."  There  was  a  still  greater  show  of  life  in  the 
old  man's  face;  in  fact,  he  almost  smiled.  "Come 
inside  a  minute.  I've  got  a  map  of  my  property, 
showing  just  how  each  section  lies  and  how  it's 
drained  and  watered."  He  opened  the  door  and 
led  Pole  into  a  wide  hall,  and  thence,  to  the  right,  into 
a  big,  bare -looking  parlor.  "Have  a  seat,  Mr. 
Baker;  my  desk  is  in  the  little  room  adjoining." 

Pole  sat  down,  crossed  his  long  legs,  and  put  his 
hat  on  his  knee.  When  he  found  himself  alone  he 
smiled.  "Captain  Duncan  thought  a  crabbed  old 
cuss  like  that  'ud  be  interested  in  pore  kin,"  he 
mused.  "Huh!  nothin'  short  o'  Vanderbilts  an' 
Jay  Goulds  'ud  start  his  family  pulse  to  beatin'. 
Le'  me  see,  now,  how  I'd  better  begin  to — " 

"Here  it  is,  Mr.  Baker."  Floyd  entered  with  a 
map  and  pencil  in  his  hand.  "  If  you  looked  the 
place  over  when  you  were  there,  you  may  remember 
that  the  creek  winds  round  from  the  bridge  to  the 
foot  of  the  hill.  Well,  right  in  there — " 

"I  know,  and  that's  dandy  land,  Mr.  Floyd," 
Pole  broke  in.  "That's  as  good  as  you  got,  I 
reckon." 

"The  very  best,  Mr.  Baker — in  fact,  it's  the  part 
I  always  rent  for  cash.  I  have  to  have  ready 
money  for  taxes  and  interest  and  the  like,  you  know, 
and  when  I  strike  a  man  who  is  able  to  pay  in  ad 
vance,  why,  I  can  make  him  a  reasonable  figure, 
and  he  gets  the  best." 


Pole     Baker 

"  It's  got  a  good  house  on  it,  too,  I  believe  ?"  Pole 
was  stroking  his  chin  with  a  thoughtful  air. 

"Six  rooms,  and  a  well  and  stable  and  good 
cow-house,  Mr.  Baker."  Old  Floyd  was  actually 
beaming. 

"  Does  the  roof  leak  ?"  Pole  looked  at  him  frankly. 
"I  won't  take  my  wife  and  children  into  a  leaky 
house,  Mr.  Floyd.  If  I  pay  out  my  money,  I  want 
ordinary  comfort." 

"Doesn't  leak  a  drop,  Mr.  Baker." 

Pole  stroked  his  chin  for  another  minute.  He 
was  looking  down  at  the  worn  carpet,  but  he  felt 
Floyd's  eyes  fastened  eagerly  on  him. 

"Well,  what's  yore  figure,  Mr.  Floyd?" 

"Two  hundred  dollars  a  year  —  half  when  you 
move  in,  and  the  rest  a  month  later."  The  old  man 
seemed  to  hold  his  breath.  The  paper  which  he  was 
folding  quivered. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  kick  about  the  price,"  Pole 
said.  "The  only  thing  that —  Pole  seemed  to 
hesitate  for  a  moment,  then  he  went  on.  "I  never 
like  to  act  in  a  hurry  in  important  business  matters, 
an'  I  generally  want  to  be  sorter  acquainted  with  a 
man  I  deal  with.  You  see,  ef  I  moved  on  that  place 
it  'ud  be  to  stay  a  long  time,  an'  thar'd  be  things  on 
yore  side  to  do  year  after  year.  I  generally  ax  fer 
references,  but  I'm  a-goin'  to  be  straight  with  you, 
Mr.  Floyd;  somehow,  I  feel  all  right  about  you.  I 
like  yore  face.  The  truth  is,  you  have  a  strong 
favor  to  a  feller  up  our  way.  He's  the  richest  young 
man  we  got,  an'  the  finest  ever  God's  sun  shone  on. 
An'  as  soon  as  I  heard  yore  name  was  Floyd — the 
same  as  his  is — somehow  I  felt  like  you  an'  him  was 

172 


Pole     Baker 

kin,  an'  that  I  wouldn't  lose  by  dealin'  with  you. 
Blood  will  tell,  you  know." 

"Why,  who  do  you  mean?"  The  old  man  stared 
in  pleased  surprise.  "All  the  Floyds  I  know  were 
broken  up  by  the  war.  I  must  say  none  of  them  are 
really  rich." 

"This  Floyd  is,  you  kin  bet  yore  boots  on  that," 
Pole  said,  enthusiastically.  "He  owns  mighty  nigh 
the  whole  o'  our  county;  he's  the  biggest  money 
lender  and  investor  in  stocks  and  bonds  I  know  of. 
He's  fine  all  round:  he'd  fight  a  buzz-saw  barehand 
ed  ;  he's  got  more  friends  than  you  kin  shake  a  stick 
at;  he  could  walk  into  Congress  any  election  ef 
he'd  jest  pass  the  word  out  that  he  wanted  the 
job." 

"  Why,  this  is  certainly  news  to  me,"  the  old  man 
said.  "And  you  say  he  resembles  me?" 

"Got  yore  eyes  to  a  T,  an'  long,  slim  hands  like 
yore'n,  an'  the  same  shape  o'  the  head  an'  neck! 
Why,  shorely  you've  heard  o'  Nelson  Floyd,  junior 
member  o'  Mayhew  &  Floyd,  of  Springtown,  the 
biggest  dealers  o'  farm  supplies  in— 

"Oh,  Nelson  Floyd!  Why  —  why,  surely  there 
must  be  some  mistake.  He  hasn't  made  money,  has 
he  ?  Why,  the  only  time  I  ever  heard  of  him  he  was 
in  destitute  circumstances,  and— 

"Destitute  hell! — I  beg  yore  pardon,  Mr.  Floyd, 
that  slipped  out.  But  that  feller's  not  only  not 
destitute,  but  he's  the  friend  o'  the  destitute.  What 
he  does  fer  the  pore  an'  sufferin'  every  year  'ud  start 
many  a  man  in  life." 

A  flush  had  crept  into  Floyd's  face,  and  he  leaned 
forward  in  warm  eagerness.  "The  truth  is,  Mr. 

J73 


Pole     Baker 

Baker,  that  Nelson  Floyd  is  the  only  child  of  all  the 
brother  I  ever  had." 

"You  don't  say /"  exclaimed  Pole,  holding  the  old 
man's  eyes  firmly,  "which  brother  was  that?" 

"Charles  Nelson — two  years  younger  than  I  am. 
The  truth  is,  he  and  I  became  estranged.  He  broke 
my  mother's  heart,  Mr.  Baker.  He  was  very  wild 
and  dissipated,  though  he  died  bravely  in  battle. 
I  would  have  looked  after  his  son,  but  I  lost  sight 
of  him  and  his  mother  after  the  war,  and,  then,  I 
had  my  own  troubles.  There  are  circumstances,  too, 
which  I  don't  care  to  go  over  with  a — a  stranger. 
But  I'm  glad  the  young  man  has  done  well.  The 
first  I  heard  of  him  was  about  ten  years  ago.  He 
was  then  said  to  be  a  sort  of  wild  mountain  out 
law.  It  was  not  natural  for  me  to  feel  pride  in 
him,  or — ' 

"He  was  wild  about  that  time,"  Pole  said,  as  he 
stood  up  to  go,  "but  he  settled  down  and  made  a 
man  of  hisse'f.  I'll  let  you  know  about  that  land, 
Mr.  Floyd.  Ef  you  don't  hear  from  me  by — this  is 
Tuesday,  ain't  it? — ef  you  don't  hear  from  me  by 
Saturday,  you  may  know  that  my  wife  has  decided 
to  stay  on  up  the  country." 

"  But " — Floyd's  face  had  fallen — "  I  hope  nothing 
won't  interfere  with  our  deal,  Baker.  I'd  like  to 
have  you  on  my  place.  I  really  would." 

"  All  right,  we'll  live  in  hopes,"  said  the  mountain 
eer,  "ef  we  die  in  despair,"  and  Pole  went  out  into 
the  sunlight. 

"Now,  Poley,"  he  chuckled,  "who  said  you 
couldn't  git  all  you  was  after?  But  lie!  My 
Lord,  I  don't  know  when  I'll  ever  git  all  that  out  o' 

i74 


Pole     Baker 

my  body.  I  feel  like  I  am  literally  soaked  in  black 
falsehood,  like  a  hide  in  a  vat  at  a  tanyard.  It's 
leakin'  out  o'  the  pores  o'  my  skin  an'  runnin' 
down  into  my  socks.  But  that  dried-up  old  skunk 
made  me  do  it.  Ef  he  hadn't  a-been  so  'feared 
o'  pore  kin,  I  wouldn't  'a'  had  to  sink  so  low.  Well, 
I've  got  news  fer  Nelson,  an'  that's  what  I  was 
after." 


XX 


T  was  ten  o'clock  that  night  when  the 
stage,  or  "hack,"  as  it  was  called,  put 
Pole  down  in  the  square  at  Springtown. 
He  went  directly  to  Floyd's  store,  hop 
ing  to  see  the  young  man  before  he  went 
to  bed,  but  the  long  building  was  wrapped  in  dark 
ness.  Pole  went  over  to  the  little  hotel  where 
Floyd  roomed.  The  proprietor,  Jerry  Malone,  and 
two  tobacco  drummers  sat  smoking  on  the  veranda. 
"He's  jest  this  minute  gone  up  to  his  room,"  the 
landlord  said,  in  response  to  Baker's  inquiry  as  to 
the  whereabouts  of  his  friend.  "It's  the  fust  door 
to  the  right,  at  the  top  o'  the  steps." 

Pole  went  up  and  knocked  on  Floyd's  door,  and 
the  young  merchant  called  out,  "Come  in." 

Baker  opened  the  door,  finding  the  room  in 
darkness.  From  the  bed  in  the  corner  Floyd's 
voice  came:  "Is  that  you,  Pole?" 

"Yes,  I  jest  got  back,  Nelson.  I  went  to  the 
store  expectin'  to  find  you  at  work,  an'  then  Jerry 
told  me  you  was  up  here." 

"  Light  the  lamp,  Pole,"  Floyd  said.     " There  are 

some  matches  on  that  table  right  under  your  hand." 

"Oh,   I  hain't  got  long  to  stay,"  returned  the 

mountaineer,  "an'  I  don't  need  a  light  to  talk  by, 

any  more  'n  a  blind  man  does  to  write  his  letters. 

176 


Pole    Baker 

I  'lowed  I'd  tell  you  what  I  done  down  thar.     I  seed 
Floyd." 

''Oh,  you  did!  After  you  left  I  got  really  in 
terested  in  your  venture,  and  I  was  afraid  you  might 
accidentally  miss  him." 

"  Yes,  I  seed  'im. "  Pole  found  a  chair  and  sat  down 
at  the  little  table,  resting  his  hand  on  it,  and  tilting 
the  chair  back,  after  his  favorite  method  of  making 
himself  comfortable.  There  was  a  lamp  on  a  post 
in  front  of  the  hotel  and  its  light  came  through  a 
window  and  faintly  illuminated  the  room.  Pole 
could  see  the  white  covering  of  Floyd's  bed  and 
the  outline  of  the  young  man's  head  and  shoulders 
against  a  big  feather  pillow. 

"  You  say  you  saw  him  ?"  Floyd's  voice  was  eager 
and  restrained. 

"Yes,  an'  I  got  news  fer  you,  Nelson — substantial 
news.  Henry  A.  Floyd  is  yore  own  uncle." 

" Good  God,  Pole!"— Floyd  sat  up  in  bed—"  don't 
make  any  mistakes.  You  say  he  is  actually — " 

"  I  ain't  makin'  no  mistakes,"  replied  Pole.  "  He's 
the  only  brother  of  yore  daddy,  Charles  Nelson 
Floyd.  That  old  cuss  told  me  so,  an'  I  know  he  was 
tellin'  me  a  straight  tale." 

There  was  silence.  Floyd  pulled  his  feet  from 
beneath  the  coverings  and  sat  up  on  the  bedside. 
He  seemed  unable  to  speak,  and,  leaning  forward  in 
his  chair,  the  ex-moonshiner  recounted  in  careful 
detail  all  that  had  passed  between  him  and  the 
man  he  had  visited.  For  several  minutes  after  Pole 
had  conlcuded  the  merchant  sat  without  visible 
movement,  then  Pole  heard  him  take  a  long,  deep 
breath. 

177 


Pole    Baker 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  what  I  done," 
said  Pole,  tentatively. 

"Satisfied!  Great  Heavens!"  cried  Floyd,  ''I 
simply  don't  know  what  to  say  to  it — how  to  tell 
you  what  I  feel.  Pole,  I'll  bet  I'm  having  the 
oddest  experience  that  ever  came  to  mortal  man.  I 
don't  know  how  to  explain  it,  or  make  you  under 
stand.  When  a  baby's  born  it's  too  young  to 
wonder  or  reflect  over  its  advent  into  the  world, 
but  to-night,  after  all  my  years  of  life,  I  feel — Pole, 
I  feel  somehow  as  if  I  were  suddenly  born  again. 
That  dark  spot  on  my  history  has  been  in  my  mind 
almost  night  and  day  ever  since  I  was  old  enough 
to  compare  myself  to  others.  Persons  who  have 
strong  physical  defects  are  often  morbidly  sensitive 
over  them.  That  flaw  in  my  life  was  my  eternally 
sore  point.  And  my  mother" — Floyd's  voice  sank 
reverently — "did  he  say  who  she  was?" 

"No,  we  didn't  git  fur  enough,"  Pole  returned. 
"You  see,  Nelson,  I  got  that  information  by  pre- 
tendin'  to  be  sorter  indifferent  about  you,  an'  ef 
I'd  'a'  axed  too  many  questions,  the  old  codger  'ud 
'a'  suspicioned  my  game.  Besides,  as  I  told  you, 
he  wasn't  willin'  to  talk  perfectly  free.  Although 
yore  daddy's  in  the  grave,  the  old  man  seems  to 
still  bear  a  sort  o'  grudge  agin  'im,  an'  that,  in  my 
opinion,  accounts  fer  him  not  helpin'  you  out  when 
you  was  a  child." 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  Floyd;  "my  father  was  wild  as 
a  young  man?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  way  he  put  it,"  answered  Baker; 
"but  I  wouldn't  let  that  bother  me,  Nelson.  Ef 
yore  daddy'd  'a'  lived  longer,  no  doubt,  he'd  'a' 

178 


Pole    Baker 

settled  down  like  you  have.  But  he  passed  away 
in  a  good  cause.  It  ort  to  be  a  comfort  to  know  he 
died  in  battle." 

"Yes,  that's  a  comfort,"  said  Floyd,  thought 
fully. 

"An'  now  you've  got  plenty  o'  kin,"  Pole  said, 
with  a  pleasant  laugh.  "  I  come  over  in  the  hack 
with  Colonel  Price  and  Captain  Duncan,  an'  you  ort 
to  'a'  heard  'em  both  spout  about  the  Floyds  an'  the 
Nelsons.  They  say  yore  blood's  as  blue  as  indigo, 
my  boy,  an'  that  they  suspected  it  all  along,  on 
account  o'  yore  pluck  and  determination  to  win  in 
ever'  game  you  tackled.  Lord,  you  bet  they'll  be 
round  to-morrow  to  give  you  the  hand  o'  good- 
fellowship  an'  welcome  you  into  high  life.  I  reckon 
you'll  sorter  cut  yore  mountain  scrub  friends." 

"I  haven't  any  scrub  friends,"  said  Floyd,  with 
feeling.  "  I  don't  know  that  you  boast  of  your 
ancestry,  Pole,  but  you  are  as  high  above  the  kind 
of  man  that  does  as  the  stars  are  above  the  earth." 

"Now  you  are  a-kiddin'  me!"  said  Baker.  He 
put  out  his  hand  on  the  table  and  felt  something 
smooth  and  cool  under  his  touch.  He  drew  it  to 
him.  It  was  a  pint  flask  filled  with  whiskey.  He 
held  it  up  with  a  laugh.  "  Good  Lord,  what  are  you 
doin'  with  this  bug-juice?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  you  mean  that  bottle  of  rye,"  said  Floyd. 
"  I've  kept  that  for  a  memento  of  the  day  I  swore 
off,  Pole,  five  years  ago.  I  thought  as  long  as  I 
could  pass  it  day  after  day  and  never  want  to  un 
cork  it,  that  it  was  a  sign  I  was  safely  anchored  to 
sobriety." 

There  was  a  little  squeak  like  that  of  a  frightened 

179 


Pole    Baker 

mouse.  Pole  had  twisted  the  cork  out  and  was 
holding  the  neck  of  the  bottle  to  his  nose. 

"Gee  whiz!"  he  exclaimed.  "That  stuff  smells 
fine!  You  say  it's  five  years  old,  Nelson?" 

"Yes,  it's  almost  old  enough  to  vote,"  Floyd 
laughed.  "  It  was  very  old  and  mellow  when  I 
got  it." 

The  cork  squeaked  again.  Pole  had  stopped  the 
bottle.  It  lay  flat  under  his  big,  pulsating  hand. 
His  fingers  played  over  it  caressingly.  "  I  wouldn't 
advise  you  to  keep  it  under  yore  eye  all  the  time, 
Nelson,"  he  said.  "I  tried  that  dodge  once  an'  it 
got  the  best  o'  my  determination." 

"I  sometimes  feel  the  old  desire  come  over  me," 
said  Floyd;  "often  when  my  mind  is  at  rest  after 
work,  and  even  while  I  am  at  it,  but  it  is  never  here 
in  my  room  in  the  presence  of  that  memento.  It 
seems  to  make  a  man  of  me.  I  pity  a  drinking 
man,  Pole.  I  know  what  he  has  to  fight,  and  I  feel 
now  that  if  I  were  to  lose  all  hope  in  life  that  I'd 
take  to  liquor  as  naturally  as  a  starving  man  would 
to  food." 

"I  reckon,"  said  Pole,  in  a  strange,  stilled  voice. 
His  fingers  were  now  tightly  clasped  about  the 
bottle.  There  was  a  pause,  then  he  slid  it  cautious 
ly — very  cautiously — towards  him.  He  swallowed 
something  that  was  in  his  throat;  his  eyes  were 
fixed  in  a  great,  helpless  stare  on  the  dim  figure 
across  the  room.  Noiselessly  the  bottle  was  raised, 
and  noiselessly  it  went  down  into  the  pocket  of  his 
coat. 

"  I  feel  like  I  owe  you  my  life,  Pole,"  Floyd  con 
tinued,  earnestly.  "You've  done  to-day  what  no 

180 


Pole     Baker 

one  else  could  have  done.  If  that  old  man  had  died 
without  speaking  of  this  matter  I'd  perhaps  never 
have  known  the  truth.  Pole,  you  can  call  on  me 
for  anything  you  want  that  is  in  my  power  to  give. 
Do  you  understand  me,  Pole,  old  friend  ?  —  any 
thing — anything ! ' ' 

There  was  silence.  Pole  sat  staring  vacantly  in 
front  of  him.  Floyd  rose  in  slow  surprise  and  came 
across  the  room.  Pole  stood  up  suddenly,  his  hand 
on  the  weighty  pocket.  Quickly  he  shifted  to  a 
darker  portion  of  the  room  nearer  the  door. 

"What's  the  matter,  Pole?"  Floyd  asked,  in 
surprise. 

"Matter?  Why, nothin', Nelson."  Baker  laughed 
mechanically.  "  I  was  jest  thinkin'  that  I  ought  to 
be  in  bed.  I've  told  you  all  I  kin,  I  guess." 

"You  were  so  quiet  just  now  that  I  thought — 
really,  I  didn't  know  what  to  think.  I  was  telling 
you—" 

"  I  know, Nelson."  Baker's  unsteady  hand  was  on 
the  latch  of  the  door.  "  Never  you  mind,  I'll  call  on 
you  if  I  want  anything.  I've  got  yore  friendship,  I 
reckon,  an'  that's  enough  fer  me." 

He  opened  the  door  and  glided  out  into  the  hall. 
"Good-night,  Nelson." 

"Good-night,  Pole,  good-night.  God  bless  you, 
old  man!" 

On  the  lonely  road  leading  to  his  house  the  moun 
taineer  stopped  and  drew  the  bottle  from  his  pocket. 
"You  dern  little  devil!"  he  said,  playfully,  holding  it 
up  before  his  eyes  in  the  starlight.  "  Here  I've 
gone  all  day  in  Atlanta,  passin'  ten  thousand  bar 
room  doors,  swearin'  by  all  that  was  holy  that  I'd 

181 


Pole    Baker 

fetch  Nelson  Floyd  his  news  with  a  sober  head  on 
my  shoulders  an'  a  steady  tongue  in  that  head ;  an' 
I  rid,  too,  by  hunkey,  all  the  way  from  Darley  out 
here  with  a  hack-driver  smellin'  like  a  bung-hole,  with 
two  quarts  under  his  seat  an'  no  tellin'  how  many 
under  his  hide.  I  say  I  got  through  all  that,  al 
though  my  jaws  was  achin'  tell  they  felt  like  they 
was  loose  at  the  sockets,  an'  I  'lowed  I'd  slide  safe 
to  the  home-base,  when  you — you  crawled  up  under 
my  nose  in  the  dark  like  a  yaller  lizard,  with  that 
dern  tale  about  yore  ripe  old  age  an'  kingly  flavor. 
'Memento'  hell!"  Pole  was  using  Floyd's  word  for 
the  first  time.  "I'd  like  to  know  what  sort  of  a 
memento  you'd  make  outside  of  a  man's  stomach. 
No,  Poley,  I  reckon  you've  reached  yore  limit." 

The  mouse  squeaked  again.  Pole  chuckled.  He 
held  the  flask  aloft  and  shook  it. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the  countless  stars  wink 
ing  merrily  down  from  above,  "  take  one  with  me," 
and  he  drank. 


XXI 

[WO  days  after  this,  Nathan  Porter 
brought  home  the  news  of  what  had 
happened  to  Floyd.  The  family  were 
seated  at  the  dinner-table  when  he  came 
in  warm  from  his  walk  along  the  dusty 
road.  He  started  to  sit  down  in  his  place  without 
his  coat,  but  Cynthia  rose  and  insisted  on  his  don 
ning  it. 

"  Folks  is  sech  eternal  fools!"  he  said,  as  he  helped 
his  plate  to  a  green  hillock  of  string-beans,  from  the 
sides  of  which  protruded  bowlders  of  gray  bacon, 
and  down  which  ran  rivulets  of  grease. 

"What  have  they  been  doing  now?"  asked  his 
wife,  curiously. 

"They  hain't  doin'  nothin'  in  town  but  talkin'," 
Porter  said,  in  a  tone  of  disgust.  "  Looks  like  all 
business  has  come  to  a  dead  halt,  so  that  everybody 
kin  exchange  views  about  what  Nelson  Floyd  has 
discovered  about  his  kin.  He's  found  a  man — or 
Pole  Baker  did  fer  'im,  when  Pole  was  drunk  down  in 
Atlanta — who  don't  deny  he's  his  uncle — his  daddy's 
own  brother — an'  you'd  think  Floyd  had  unearthed 
a  gold-mine,  from  all  the  talk  an'  well-wishin' 
among  the  elect.  Old  Duncan  an'  Colonel  Price 
helt  a  whole  crowd  spellbound  at  the  post-office  this 
mornin'  with  the'r  tales  about  the  past  power  an' 

'83 


Pole    Baker 

grandeur  of  the  Nelson  an'  Floyd  families  in  Amer 
ica,  an'  all  they'd  done  fer  the'r  country  an'  the 
like." 

"Father,  is  this  true?"  Cynthia  asked,  her  face 
almost  pale  in  suppressed  excitement. 

"I  reckon  thar's  no  doubt  about  it,"  answered 
Porter.  "Pole  Baker's  roarin'  drunk,  an'  that 
always  indicates  that  some'n'  good  or  bad's  hap 
pened  to  him  or  his  friends.  Thar  hain't  no  money 
in  Floyd's  find.  The  Atlanta  man's  on  the  ragged 
edge ;  in  fact,  some  say  he  never  would  'a'  confessed 
to  the  crime  ef  he  hadn't  heard  that  Nelson  was 
well-to-do.  I  dunno.  I  hardly  ever  laugh,  but  I 
mighty  nigh  split  my  sides  while  Jim  Garden  was 
pokin'  fun  at  'em  all.  Jim  says  all  the  bon-tons  in 
this  section  has  been  treatin'  Floyd  like  a  runt  pig 
till  now.  The  Duncans  had  a  big  blow-out  at  the'r 
house  last  night.  Miss  Evelyn's  got  some  Atlanta 
gals  an'  boys  thar  at  a  house-party,  an'  the  shindig 
was  a  big  event.  Jim  said  he  was  standin'  nigh 
Floyd  yesterday  when  he  got  his  invite,  an'  that 
Nelson  was  about  to  refuse  p'int-blank  to  go,  beca'se 
he'd  never  been  axed  thar  before  he  got  his  blood 
certificate;  but  Jim  said  Pole  Baker  was  standin' 
thar  about  half-shot,  swayin'  back  an'  forth  agin  the 
desk,  an'  Pole  up  an'  told  Floyd  that  he'd  have  to 
accept — that  he  was  as  good  as  any  in  the  land,  an' 
to  refuse  a  thing  o'  that  sort  would  belittle  'im ;  an' 
so  Nelson  put  on  a  b'iled  shirt  an'  a  dicky  cravat 
an'  went.  Jim  said  his  wife  run  over  with  a  passle 
o'  other  women  to  help  about  the  dinin'-room  an' 
kitchen,  an'  that  Floyd  was  the  high-cockalorum  of 
the  whole  bunch.  He  said  all  the  women  was  at  his 

184 


Pole    Baker 

heels,  an'  that  nothin'  was  talked  except  the  high 
an'  mighty  grandeur  that's  come  an'  gone  among 
the  Nelsons  an'  Floyds.  Jim  said  Floyd  looked  like 
he  wanted  to  crawl  through  a  knot-hole  in  the  floor. 
I'll  say  this  fer  that  feller — blood  or  no  blood,  he 
hain't  no  dern  fool,  an'  you  mark  my  words,  this 
thing  hain't  a-goin'  to  spile  'im  nuther.  You  let 
a  man  make  hisse'f  in  life,  an'  he  hain't  a-goin'  daft 
about  the  flabby,  ready-made  sort." 

"You  wait  and  see,"  Mrs.  Porter  said,  a  sneer  on 
her  lips,  as  she  critically  eyed  Cynthia's  face.  "A 
man  that's  as  bad  as  he  is,  to  begin  with,  will  be 
worse  when  he  is  run  after  like  that." 

"I  dunno,"  said  Porter,  his  mouth  full  of  beans. 
"  I  seed  'im  give  old  Johnson  Blare  a  cut  this  mornin' 
that  tickled  me  powerful.  The  old  skunk  got  out  o' 
his  rickety  buggy  in  front  o'  the  store  an'  went  in  to 
congratulate  Floyd.  I  knowed  what  he  was  up  to, 
an'  follered  'im  back  to  the  desk.  He  told  Floyd 
that  he  was  a  sort  o'  far-off  cousin  o'  the  Nelsons,  an' 
that  he  was  prouder  of  that  fact  than  anything  else 
in  the  world.  I  seed  Floyd  was  mad  as  he  looked 
at  the  old  fellow  with  his  high  collar  an'  frazzley 
necktie.  'I'm  gittin'  tired  o'  the  whole  business,' 
Floyd  said  to  'im.  '  I  want  to  be  appreciated,  if  I 
deserve  it,  for  my  own  sake,  an'  not  on  account  o' 
my  dead  kinsfolk.'  An'  that  certainly  did  squelch 
old  Blare.  He  shook  all  over  when  he  went  out." 

"  I  suppose  Nelson  Floyd  will  end  up  by  marrying 
Evelyn  Duncan  or  some  of  the  Prices,"  Mrs.  Porter 
said,  significantly,  as  she  fastened  her  lynx  eye  on 
Cynthia's  shrinking  face. 

"That  seems  to  be  the  talk,  anyway,"  Porter  ad- 
185 


Pole    Baker 

mitted.  "  She  belongs  to  the  doll  -  faced,  bandbox 
variety.  She'd  be  a  nice  little  trick  to  dandle  on  a 
fellow's  knee,  but  that's  about  all  she'd  be  good  for." 

After  the  meal  was  over,  Mrs.  Porter  followed 
Cynthia  out  into  the  kitchen,  whither  the  girl  was 
taking  a  big  pan  full  of  soiled  dishes. 

"This  ought  to  make  you  very  careful,  Cynthia," 
she  said. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  mother."  The  girl 
looked  up  coldly. 

"Well,  /  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Porter. 
"People  seem  to  think  this  will  bring  about  a  sort 
of  change  in  Nelson  Floyd's  way  of  living.  We  are 
really  as  good  as  anybody  in  this  county,  but  we  are 
poor,  and  others  are  rich,  and  have  more  social  ad 
vantages.  Evelyn  Duncan  always  has  snubbed  you 
girls  around  here,  and  no  young  man  has  been  going 
in  both  sets.  So  faF  nobody  that  I  know  of  has 
talked  unkindly  about  you  and  Nelson  Floyd,  but 
they  would  be  more  apt  to  now  than  ever.  How 
that  thing  about  the  mill  ever  escaped— 

"Mother,  don't  bring  that  up  again!"  Cynthia 
said,  almost  fiercely.  "I  have  heard  enough  of  it. 
I  can't  stand  any  more." 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,  and  you  have  my 
warning,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  sternly,  "and  that's 
all  I  can  do.  As  good  and  respectable  a  young  man 
as  ever  lived  wants  to  marry  you,  and  the  worst  rake 
in  the  county  has  been  paying  you  questionable 
attentions.  The  first  thing  you  know,  Mr.  Hillhouse 
will  get  disgusted,  and — 

But  Cynthia  had  left  her  work  and  gone  out  into 
the  yard.  With  a  face  quite  pale  and  set,  she  went 

186 


Pole    Baker 

through  the  orchard,  climbed  over  the  brier-grown 
rail-fence,  and  crossed  the  field  and  pasture  to  Pole 
Baker's  house.  Mrs.  Baker,  pale  and  bedraggled, 
with  a  ten-months-old  baby  on  her  arm,  stood  on  the 
little  porch  of  the  cottage.  At  her  feet  the  other 
children  were  playing. 

"You've  heard  o'  my  trouble,  I  kin  see  that,"  the 
married  woman  said,  as  the  girl  opened  the  gate. 
"Come  in  out  o'  the  sun." 

"Yes,  I've  heard,"  said  Cynthia,  "  and  I  came  as 
soon  as  I  could." 

They  went  into  the  poorly  furnished  bedroom, 
with  its  bare  floor  belittered  with  the  playthings  of 
the  children,  and  sat  down  in  the  straight-backed, 
rockerless  chairs. 

"You  mustn't  notice  the  way  things  look,"  sighed 
Mrs.  Baker.  "  The  truth  is,  Cynthia,  I  haven't  had 
the  heart  to  lay  my  hand  to  a  thing.  Pole's  been 
away  three  nights  and  three  days  now,  and  I  don't 
know  what  has  happened  to  him.  He's  quick 
tempered  and  gets  into  quarrels  when  he's  drinkin'. 
He  may  be  in  jail  in  Darley,  or  away  off  some'rs  on 
the  railroad." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  Cynthia.  "Let  me  hold 
the  baby;  you  look  as  if  you  are  about  to  drop." 

"I  didn't  sleep  an  hour  last  night,"  said  Mrs. 
Baker,  as  she  relinquished  the  child.  "  I  don't  want 
to  complain.  He's  so  good-hearted,  Cynthia,  and 
he  can't  help  it  to  save  his  life.  He's  the  kindest, 
sweetest  man  in  the  world  when  he's  all  right;  but 
these  sprees  mighty  nigh  kill  me.  Take  my  advice 
an'  don't  marry  a  drinkin'  man  fer  all  you  do.  No — 
no,  not  even  if  you  love  'im!  It's  easier  to  tear  one 


Pole    Baker 

out  o'  your  heart  before  you  have  children  by  'im, 
an'  God  knows  a  pore  woman  ought  to  have  some 
happiness  and  peace  of  mind.  If  Pole  don't  come 
home  to-day  I'm  afraid  I'll  go  crazy.  Pore  little 
Billy  kept  wakin'  up  last  night  and  askin'  about  his 
papa.  He  can't  understand.  He  fairly  worships  his 
father." 

"We  must  hope  for  the  best,"  Cynthia  said, 
sympathetically,  and  she  drew  the  baby  up  close  to 
her  face  and  kissed  it  tenderly. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Cynthia  went  home.  She 
helped  her  mother  prepare  supper,  and  after  it  was 
over  she  followed  the  example  of  the  others  and 
retired  to  her  room.  For  an  hour  she  sat  sewing  at 
her  table,  every  now  and  then  stifling  a  sigh.  She 
rose  and  looked  out  of  her  window,  at  the  wing  of  the 
house  on  the  left.  It  was  dark;  the  family  were 
already  asleep.  She  would  undress  and  go  to  bed, 
but  she  knew  she  would  lie  awake  for  a  long  time, 
and  that  she  dreaded. 

Just  then  a  sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  night. 
Ah,  she  knew  it  so  well!  She  sank  back  into  her 
chair,  quivering  from  head  to  foot  in  excitement. 
It  was  the  whippoorwill  call.  It  came  again,  more 
insistent,  more  pleading,  but  Cynthia  sat  motionless. 
Again  it  came ;  this  time  it  was  as  if  the  weird  notes 
were  full  of  aggrieved  inquiry.  What  was  the 
matter?  Why  was  she  delaying?  Cynthia  rose, 
moved  to  the  door  of  her  room,  but  with  her  hand 
on  the  latch  she  paused.  Then  she  turned  back  to 
her  table  and  blew  out  her  light,  and  began  to  dis 
robe  in  the  darkness.  No,  she  would  not  go  in  that 

188 


Pole     Baker 

manner  to  him  again  —  never  —  never!  To  expect 
such  a  thing  of  Evelyn  Duncan  would  not  have  en 
tered  his  mind.  Her  mother  was  right.  Evelyn 
Duncan  was  one  thing  in  his  estimation  —  she  an 
other.  In  the  darkness  she  got  into  bed  and  drew 
the  covering  over  her  head  that  she  might  shut  out 
the  sound,  for  it  pained  her.  There  was  silence  for 
several  minutes,  then  she  heard  the  night  bird's  call 
farther  away  in  the  direction  of  the  swamp.  Floyd 
was  going  home.  For  hours  she  lay  awake,  unable 
to  sleep.  Once  she  sat  upright  with  a  start.  Per 
haps  that  would  be  the  end.  Perhaps  she  had  driv 
en  him  away,  when  if  only  she  had  obeyed  the 
promptings  of  her  heart  he  and  she  might — but  he 
was  gone,  and,  according  to  her  mother's  cautious 
view,  she  had  acted  for  the  best ;  and  yet  how  could 
she  ever  forget  the  vast  respect  with  which  he  had 
treated  her  that  night  at  the  mill  ?  If  he  had  been 
a  bad  man  he  would  have  shown  it  then.  But  he 
wasn't;  he  was  good  and  thoughtful  of  her  feelings. 
And  he  had  come  to-night  full  of  his  recent  discov 
ery.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  all  about  it,  as  he  had 
told  her  of  other  things  touching  his  inner  life,  and 
she  had  repulsed  him — driven  him  away — to  Evelyn 
Duncan.  A  sob  struggled  up  in  her  bosom  and 
forced  its  way  to  the  surface. 


XXII 

WEEK  later  Pole  Baker  came  back 
from  Darley  on  foot.  He  was  covered 
with  dust,  his  clothing  was  soiled  and 
torn,  his  hair  unkempt.  He  looked  thin 
ner  ;  his  big  eyes  seemed  to  burn  in  their 
deep,  dark  sockets  as  if  fed  by  the  slow  oil  of  despair. 
He  paused  at  the  well  at  the  court-house  to  get  a 
drink  of  water.  He  drank  copiously  from  the  big 
wooden  bucket,  and  wiped  his  mouth  on  the  back 
of  his  dusty  hand.  It  was  a  very  quiet  afternoon  at 
Springtown;  scarcely  any  one  was  in  sight.  Pole 
moved  over  to  the  steps  of  the  public  building  and 
sat  down  in  abject  indecision.  "The  Lord  knows  I 
ort  to  go  on  home  to  Sally  an'  the  childern,"  he 
groaned,  "but  how  kin  I? — how  kin  I?" 

He  sat  there  for  half  an  hour,  his  head  hanging, 
his  great  hands  twitching  nervously.  Presently  a 
shadow  fell  on  the  ground  before  him,  and,  looking 
up,  he  saw  a  negro  boy  extending  a  letter  to  him. 
"  A  man  told  me  ter  give  you  dis  here,  Mr.  Baker," 
the  boy  said. 

"What  man?"  Pole  asked,  as  he  took  the  com 
munication. 

"  I  didn't  know  'im,  suh.  I  never  seed  'im  before. 
He  looked  ter  me  like  a  mountain  man.  He  was 
ridin'  a  little  white  mule,  an'  as  soon  as  he  gimme  de 

190 


Pole     Baker 

letter  an'  tol  me  whar  you  was  a  settin'  he  whipped 
his  mule  an'  rid  off." 

Pole  held  the  letter  in  his  hand  till  the  boy  had 
gone,  then  he  tore  the  envelope  open  and  read  it. 
It  slipped  from  his  inert  fingers  to  the  ground,  and 
Pole,  with  glaring  eyes,  picked  it  up  and  read  it 
again  and  again.  To  him  it  was  worse  than  a 
death-blow. 

"Pole  Baker,"  it  began;  "we,  the  Mountain-side  White 
Cap  Association,  beg  leave  to  inform  you  that  we  have  sat 
in  council  at  three  separate  meetings  on  your  case  of  pro 
tracted  drunkenness  and  family  neglect.  If  any  other 
man  in  the  county  had  done  as  you  have,  he  would  have 
met  with  punishment  long  ago,  but  your  friends  put  in  ex 
cuses  for  you  and  postponed  it.  However,  we  met  again 
last  night  and  decided  that  it  was  our  duty  to  act  in  your 
case.  For  ten  days  now  your  wife,  a  sweet,  patient  woman, 
has  been  verging  on  to  despair  through  you.  We  hold 
that  no  living  man  has  a  right  to  tie  a  good  woman  to  him 
by  cords  of  love  and  pity  and  then  torture  her  on  the  rack 
night  and  day  just  to  gratify  a  beastly  appetite.  This 
step  is  being  taken  with  great  regret,  and  by  men  not 
known  to  you,  but  who  admire  you  in  many  ways  and  like 
you.  Punishment  has  been  dealt  out  here  in  the  moun 
tains  to  good  effect,  as  you  yourself  have  been  heard  to 
admit,  and  we  confidently  believe  that  after  we  have  acted 
in  your  case  you  will  be  a  better  man  to  them  that  are  de 
pendent  on  you.  To-night  at  eight  o'clock  sharp  our 
body  will  be  at  the  gum  spring,  half-way  between  your  farm 
and  the  court  -  house.  If  you  are  there  to  meet  us,  the 
disagreeable  matter  of  whipping  you  will  be  done  there,  out 
of  sight  and  hearing  of  your  wife  and  children;  if  not,  we 
will  have  to  do  as  we  have  done  in  the  case  of  other  men, 
go  to  your  house  and  take  you  out.  We  earnestly  hope 
you  will  meet  us,  and  that  you  will  be  prepared  to  make  us 
promises  that  you  will  keep.  Respectfully, 

"  THE  MOUNTAIN-SIDE  WHITE  CAP  ASSOCIATION." 
191 


Pole     Baker 

Pole  stared  at  the  ground  for  a  long  time;  the 
veins  of  his  neck  and  brow  stood  out  as  if  from 
physical  torture.  He  looked  about  him  suddenly 
in  a  spasm  of  effort  to  think  of  some  escape  from  his 
impending  doom.  There  was  Nelson  Floyd.  He 
would  grant  him  any  request.  He  could  draw  upon 
the  young  merchant  for  unlimited  funds,  and  before 
the  fated  hour  arrived  he  could  be  far  away  from 
the  country  and  his  wife  and  children.  A  great 
lump  rose  inside  of  him  and  tore  itself  outward 
through  his  throat.  No,  he  couldn't  leave  them; 
it  was  further  out  of  his  power  now  than  ever. 
Besides,  had  he  not  brought  all  this  on  himself? 
Was  not  the  threatened  punishment  equally  as  just 
in  his  case  as  it  had  been  in  the  case  of  others  among 
his  neighbors?  He  rose  to  his  feet.  There  was 
nothing  left  for  him  to  do  but  to  go  home,  and — yes, 
meet  the  White  Caps  at  the  appointed  place  and 
take  what  was  coming  to  him  bravely.  Shoot? 
Defend  his  rights  ?  Kill  the  men  who  were  taking 
the  part  of  those  he  himself  had  sworn  to  love  and 
stand  by? — no!  The  punishment? — yes;  but  after 
that,  to  his  confused  brain,  all  was  a  painful  blank. 
His  wife  and  children  had  always  comforted  him  in 
trouble,  but  could  they  do  so  now  ?  Would  not  the 
sight  of  their  anxious  faces  only  add  to  his  load  of 
remorse?  As  he  went  along  the  road  towards  his 
home,  his  rugged  breast  rose  and  expanded  under 
his  ragged  shirt  and  then  slowly  fell.  He  was  a  dead 
man  alive — a  breathing,  rotting  horror  in  his  own 
sight.  A  shudder  went  over  him;  he  heard  the 
commanding  voice  of  the  leader  of  the  outlaws;  he 
felt  the  lash  and  braced  himself  for  another  blow, 

192 


Pole     Baker 

which  he  hoped  would  cut  deep  enough  to  pierce 
the  festering  agony  within  him.  Then  his  lower  lip 
began  to  quiver,  and  tears  came  into  his  great,  glar 
ing  eyes.  He  was  beginning  to  pity  himself,  for, 
when  all  had  been  said  and  done,  could  he  really 
have  acted  differently?  Had  God  actually  given 
him  the  moral  and  physical  strength  to  avoid  the 
pits  into  which  he  had  stumbled  with  the  helpless 
ness  of  a  little  child? 

The  road  led  him  into  the  depths  of  a  wood  where 
the  boughs  of  mighty  trees  arched  overhead  and 
obscured  the  sunlit  sky.  He  envied  a  squirrel 
bounding  unhindered  to  its  nest.  Nature  seemed 
to  hold  out  her  vast,  soothing  arms  to  him.  He 
wanted  to  sink  into  them  and  sob  out  his  pent-up 
agony.  In  the  deepest  part  of  the  wood,  where 
rugged  cliffs  bordered  the  road,  he  came  to  the 
spring  mentioned  in  the  letter.  Here  he  paused 
and  looked  about  him.  On  this  spot  the  most  awful 
experience  of  his  rugged  life  would  be  enacted. 

With  a  shudder  he  passed  on.  The  trees  grew 
less  dense,  and  then  on  a  rise  ahead  of  him  he  saw 
his  humble  cottage,  like  a  cheerless  blot  on  the 
green  lush -sward  about  it.  He  wanted  now  to 
search  the  face  of  his  wife.  For  ten  days,  the  letter 
said,  she  had  suffered.  She  had  suffered  so  much 
that  the  neighbors  had  taken  up  her  cause — they 
had  taken  it  up  when  he — great  God ! — when  he  loved 
her  and  the  children  with  every  tortured  cord  of  his 
being!  They  had  come  to  his  wife's  aid  against  him, 
her  prime  enemy.  Yes,  they  should  whip  him, 
and  he  would  tell  them  while  they  were  at  it  to  lay 
it  on — to  lay  it  on!  and  God  sanction  the  cause. 

193 


Pole    Baker 

He  entered  the  gate.  His  wife  was  sitting  in  the 
little  hall,  a  wooden  bowl  in  her  lap,  shelling  pease; 
on  a  blanket  at  her  feet  lay  the  baby.  He  went  up 
the  steps  and  stood  in  the  doorway.  She  raised  her 
eyes  and  saw  him,  and  then  lowered  her  head,  saying 
nothing,  though  she  was  deathly  pale.  He  stared 
helplessly  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  out  behind 
the  house  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  under  a  tree,  near 
his  beehives  and  his  bent-toothed,  stone-weighted 
harrow.  A  deeper  feeling  of  despair  had  come  over 
him,  for  it  was  the  first  time  his  wife  had  ever  re 
fused  to  greet  him  in  some  way  or  other  on  his 
return  home.  On  the  banks  of  a  spring  branch  be 
low  the  barn,  he  saw  his  older  children  playing,  but 
he  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  them,  and,  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  he  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  The  memory  came  to  him  of  men  who  had 
killed  themselves  when  in  deep  trouble,  but  he 
brushed  the  thought  away.  They  were  shirking 
cowards.  For  half  an  hour  he  sat  thus.  He  heard 
the  children  laughing  as  they  continued  their  romp 
up  and  down  the  stream.  Then  his  wife  slowly 
came  out  to  him.  She  was  still  pale,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  she  was  thinner  than  she  had  ever 
been  before. 

"Pole,  darlin',"  she  began,  with  a  catch  in  her 
voice,  "some  o'  the  neighbors  has  been  tellin'  me 
that  I  ort  not  to  be  kind  an'  good  to  you  when  you 
come  home  after  you've  done  us  this  away,  an'  I 
acknowledge  I  did  try  just  now  to  act  sorter  cold, 
but  I  can't.  Oh,  Pole,  I  ain't  mad  at  you,  darlin'! 
My  heart  is  so  full  o'  joy  at  seein'  you  back  home, 
safe  an'  sound,  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I 

194 


Pole    Baker 

know  you  are  sorry,  darlin',  fer  you  always  are, 
an'  you  look  more  downcast  than  I  ever  seed  you 
in  all  my  life.  Oh,  Pole,  I've  suffered,  I'll  admit, 
but  that  can't  equal  my  joy  right  now  at  seein' 
you  home  with  that  sweet,  sorry  look  in  yore  eyes. 
Pole,  darlin',  won't  you  kiss  me?  You  would  ef  I 
hadn't  turned  from  you  as  I  did  in  the  house  jest 
now.  Don't — don't  blame  me!  I  hardly  knowed 
what  I  was  doin'." 

A  sob  rose  in  him  and  burst.  She  saw  his  emo 
tion,  and  put  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  It  was  that  meddlesome  old  Mrs.  Snodgrass  who 
put  me  up  to  actin'  that  away,"  she  said,  tenderly. 
"  But  I'll  never  do  it  ag'in.  The  idea!  An'  me  ever' 
bit  as  happy  as  I  was  the  day  we  married  one  an 
other!  Thar  comes  little  Billy,  as  hard  as  he  kin 
move  his  little  fat  legs.  Wipe  yore  eyes,  Pole; 
don't  let  him  see  you  a-cryin'.  He'd  remember  it 
all  his  life — childern  are  so  quar.  Thar,  wipe  'em  on 
my  apron — no,  le'  me  do  it.  He's  axed  about  you 
a  hundred  times  a  day.  The  neighbors'  childern 
talked  before  him  an'  made  him  wonder." 

The  child,  red  in  the  face  and  panting,  ran  into 
his  father's  outstretched  arms. 

"Whar  you  been,  papa?"  he  asked. 

"Over  to  Darley,  Billy,"  Pole  managed  to  say. 

"Are  you  goin'  to  stay  at  home  any  more,  papa?" 
was  the  next  query. 

"Yes,  Billy — I  hope  so.  What  have  you  childern 
been  playing  with  down  at  the  branch?" 

"Johnny  made  a  boat,  papa,  but  it  wouldn't 
swim.  It  sunk  when  he  put  sand  on  it.  Will  you 
make  me  a  boat,  papa?" 

195 


Pole    Baker 

"Yes,   Billy." 

"When,  papa?" 

"To-morrow,  Billy."  Pole  pressed  his  rough  face 
to  the  child's  smooth,  perspiring  brow,  and  then  put 
him  down.  "Now  run  and  play,"  he  said. 

"  I've  put  on  some  coffee  to  boil,"  said  Mrs.  Baker 
when  the  child  had  left.  "  I  know  you  want  some. 
Pole,  you  look  all  unstrung.  I  never  seed  you  so 
nervous.  Yore  hands  are  twitchin',  an'  I  never  seed 
sech  a  awful  look  in  yore  face.  Don't  you  want  me 
to  cook  some'n'  special  fer  you  to  eat,  Pole?" 

"Not  a  thing,  Sally,"  he  gulped.  "The  coffee  is 
enough." 

She  went  into  the  house  and  came  back  with  it. 
As  she  drew  near  he  noted  that  the  sun  was  fast 
going  down ;  the  shadow  of  the  hill,  to  the  west  of 
the  cottage,  was  creeping  rapidly  across  the  level 
field  below.  It  would  soon  be  eight  o'clock,  and 
then — 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Sally,  at  his  elbow.  "It's  as 
strong  as  I  could  make  it.  It  will  steady  your 
nerves.  Oh,  Pole,  I'm  so  glad  you  got  back!  I 
couldn't  have  gone  through  another  night  like  the 
others.  It  would  have  killed  me." 

He  raised  the  coffee-cup  to  keep  from  seeing  her 
wistful,  dark-ringed  eyes. 

Night  came  on  apace.  He  sat  in  his  chair  while 
she  busied  herself  with  heeding  and  putting  the 
children  to  bed.  Her  voice  rang  with  joy  and  relief 
as  she  spoke  to  them ;  once  she  sang  a  bar  of  an  old 
ballad.  It  vividly  recalled  their  courtship  days. 
He  moved  his  chair  to  the  porch.  He  sat  there 
awhile,  and  then  went  to  feed  his  horse  and  cattle, 

196 


Pole     Baker 

telling  himself,  the  while,  that  he  had  made  his 
wife  do  his  work  for  the  past  ten  days  that  he 
might  sink  to  the  level  of  a  beast. 

After  supper  the  two  sat  together  in  the  moon 
light  on  the  porch,  he  silent,  she  talkative  and  full 
of  joy.  The  old  -  fashioned  clock  on  the  mantel 
within  struck  seven.  He  waited  about  half  an  hour 
longer,  and  then  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  the  store  and  see  Nelson  Floyd," 
he  said.  "  I'll  be  back  inside  of  an  hour,  sure." 

She  stared  at  him  irresolutely  for  a  moment,  then 
she  uttered  a  low  groan. 

"Oh,  Pole,  Pole,  Pole!  I  don't  want  you  to  go," 
she  cried.  "You  know  why.  If  you  get  whar  any 
liquor  is  now,  you — you  may  go  off  again.  Stay 
with  me,  Pole!  I'll  give  you  some  strong  coffee.  I'll 
do  anything  ruther  than  have  you  out  o'  my  sight 
now  that  you  are  safe  at  home.  You  won't  spile 
all  my  happiness  by  goin'  off  again.  Will  you, 
darlin'?" 

He  caught  her  wrist  with  his  left  hand  and  held 
his  right  steadily  upward. 

"  I'll  swear  to  you,  Sally,  before  God,  that  I  won't 
tetch  a  single  drop,  and  that  I'll  be  back  inside  of  an 
hour.  You  kin  trust  me  now,  Sally.  You  never 
heard  me  speak  this  way  before." 

Their  eyes  met.  "  Yes,  I  kin  trust  you  when  you 
talk  that  away,"  she  said.  "Don't  be  gone  longer 
than  an  hour,  Pole.  I'll  set  right  here  on  the  porch 
and  wait  for  you." 

"All  right.     I'll  keep  my  word,  Sally." 

Out  at  the  gate  he  passed,  moving  away,  his  head 
down,  his  long  arms  swinging  disconsolately  at  his 


Pole    Baker 

sides.  When  out  of  sight  of  the  cottage  he  quickened 
his  step.  He  must  not  be  late.  They  must  not, 
under  any  circumstances,  come  nearer  to  his  house 
than  the  spring,  and  he  must  try  to  secure  their 
promise  not  to  let  his  degradation  reach  the  ears  of 
his  wife  and  children.  He  could  not  stand  that. 


XXIII 

[EACHING  the  appointed  place,  he  sat 
down  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  to 
wait.  By-and-by  he  heard  voices  in 
the  distance,  and  then  the  tramp,  tramp 
of  footsteps.  A  dark  blur  appeared  in 
the  moonlight  on  the  road.  It  was  a  body  of  men 
numbering  between  twenty-five  and  thirty.  They 
were  all  afoot,  and,  by  way  of  precaution  against 
identification,  they  wore  white  caps  over  their  heads, 
with  holes  for  the  eyes.  In  their  mouths  they  had 
stuffed  wads  of  cotton  to  muffle  and  disguise  their 
voices. 

"Well,  I  see  you've  acted  sensible,  Baker,"  said  a 
man  who  seemed  in  the  lead.  "  Some  o'  the  boys 
'lowed  you'd  cut  an'  shoot;  but  you  hain't  armed, 
are  you,  Pole?" 

"No,  I  hain't  armed,  Joe  Dilworthy." 
"Huh,  you  think  you  know  me!"  the  speaker 
said,  with  a  start. 

"Yes,  I  know  you,"  answered  Pole.  "I'd  know 
you  anywhar  in  the  world  by  yore  shape  an' 
voice.'1 

"Well,  you  may  think  I'm  anybody  you  like," 
returned  the  masked  man.  "That's  neither  here 
nur  thar.  I've  been  app'inted  to  do  the  talkin' 
to-night,  Pole,  an'  I  want  to  say,  at  the  start,  that 

199 


Pole    Baker 

this  is  the  most  disagreeable  job  that  this  association 
ever  tackled.  Yore  case  has  been  up  before  our 
body  time  after  time,  an'  some'n'  always  throwed  it 
out,  fer  you've  got  stacks  an'  stacks  o'  friends. 
But  action  was  finally  tuck,  an'  here  we  are.  Pole, 
do  you  know  any  valid  reason  why  you  shouldn't  be 
treated  "ike  other  malefactors  in  these  mountains?" 

There  was  silence.  Pole's  head  was  hanging 
down.  They  could  not  see  his  face  in  the  moon 
light. 

"No,  I  don't  see  no  reason,"  the  condemned 
man  finally  said.  "  I'm  here  to  meet  you,  to  tell 
you  that  I  deserve  more  'n  you  fellows  could  lay 
on  me  ef  you  begun  now  an'  kept  up  a  steady 
lick  till  the  last  one  of  you  was  fagged  out.  The 
only  trouble,  gentlemen,  is  that  I  hain't  a-goin'  to 
feel  the  lash.  Thar's  a  pain  inside  o'  me  so  keen 
an'  fur  down  that  what  you  do  jest  to  my  body 
won't  count.  You  are  the  friends  of  my  wife  an' 
childern;  you  are  better  friends  to  'em  than  I've 
been,  an'  I  want  you  to  strip  me  to  my  dirty  hide 
an'  whip  my  duty  into  me,  ef  that  is  possible. 
The  only  thing  I  would  ask  is  to  spare  my  folks  the 
knowledge  of  it,  ef  you  kin  see  it  that  away.  Keep 
this  thing  quiet — jest  amongst  us.  I  may  be  able 
to  brace  up  an'  try  to  do  right  in  the  future,  but  I 
don't  believe  I  kin  ef  they  know  o'  my  humiliation. 
I  don't  ax  that  as  a  favor  to  myself,  you  under 
stand,  gentlemen,  but  to  them  you  are  befriendin' 
— a  weak  woman  an'  helpless  little  childern." 

Pole  ceased  speaking.  There  was  profound  si 
lence,  broken  only  by  the  croaking  of  frogs  in  the 
spring  branch  near  by.  Dilworthy  thrust  his  hands 

200 


Pole    Baker 

into  the  pockets  of  his  trousers  awkwardly,  and  slowly 
turned  his  eyeholes  upon  the  eyeholes  about  him, 
but  no  one  made  sign  or  sound. 

"  Boys,  you  all  hear  what  Pole  says,"  finally  came 
from  him.  "  He  seems  to  feel  —  I  mought  say  to 
realize — that —  The  voice  spent  itself  in  the  folds 
of  the  speaker's  mask. 

"  Hold!  I  want  to  say  a  word."  A  tall,  lank  man 
stepped  from  the  group,  spitting  wads  of  cotton 
from  his  mouth  and  lifting  the  cap  from  his  head. 
"I'm  Jeff  Wade,  Pole.  You  see  who  I  am.  You 
kin  appear  agin  me  before  the  grand  jury  an'  swear 
I'm  a  member  o'  this  gang,  ef  you  want  to.  I  don't 
give  a  damn.  In  j'inin'  the  association,  I  tuck  the 
oath  to  abide  by  what  the  majority  done.  But  I 
didn't  take  no  oath  that  I  wouldn't  talk  when  I 
got  ready,  an'  I  want  now  to  explain,  as  is  my 
right,  I  reckon,  how  I  happen  to  be  here.  I've 
fit  this  case  agin  you  fer  several  meetin's  with  all 
my  soul  an'  strength,  beca'se  I  knowed  you  was  too 
good  a  man  at  heart  to  whip  like  a  dog  fer  what 
you've  done.  I  fit  it  an'  fit  it,  but  last  meetin'  my 
wife  was  down  havin'  another  twelve -pound  boy, 
as  maybe  you  heard,  an'  somehow  in  my  absence 
the  vote  went  agin  you.  Strong  speeches  was  made 
by  yore  wife's  kin  about  her  treatment,  an'  action 
was  finally  tuck.  But  I'm  here  to  say  that  every 
lick  that  falls  on  yore  helpless  back  to-night  will 
hurt  me  more  than  ef  they  was  on  me  You've 
made  a  better  man  out  o'  me  in  a  few  ways,  Pole, 
an',  by  God!  I'm  a-goin'  to  feel  like  some  o'  that 
dirty  crowd  felt  away  back  thar  when  they  went 
along  an'  sanctioned  the  death  agony  of  our  Saviour. 

201 


Pole    Baker 

You  are  too  good  a  man,  Pole,  to  be  degraded  this 
away.  What  you've  done  agin  yore  own  was 
through  weakness  that  you  couldn't  well  help. 
We've  all  got  our  faults,  but  I  don't  know  a  man 
in  this  gang  that's  got  as  many  good  p'ints  to 
counteract  the  bad  as  you  have." 

"  That's  all  right,  Jeff , "  Pole  said,  stolidly.  "  What 
you  say  don't  excuse  me.  I  stand  here  to-night 
convicted  by  my  neighbors  of  mistreat  in'  my  own 
blood  an'  heart  kin,  an'  I  don't  want  nobody  to 
defend  me  when  sech  men  as  Sandy  McHugh  tuck 
what  was  comin'  to  them  without  a  whimper.  I 
don't  know  what  effect  it's  goin'  to  have  on  me. 
I  cayn't  see  that  fur  ahead.  I've  tried  to  quit 
liquor  about  as  hard  as  any  man  alive,  an'  I'm  not 
goin'  to  make  promises  an'  break  'em.  After  this  is 
over,  I  reckon  I'll  do  whatever  the  Lord  has  laid  out 
fer  me  to  do." 

"  Pole,  I'm  Mel  Jones!"  Another  tall  man  divested 
himself  of  cap  and  mask  and  stood  out  in  full  view. 
"  I  voted  agin  this,  too.  I'm  yore  friend,  Pole. 
That's  all  I  got  to  say." 

"That's  all  right,  Mel,"  said  Pole,  "an1  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you.  But,  gentlemen,  I  told  my  wife  I 
was  goin'  to  town  an'  would  be  straight  back.  You 
hain't  said  whether  it  would  be  possible  to  keep  this 
thing  quiet — 

"  Quiet  hell !"  snorted  Dilworthy.  "  Do  you  damn 
fools  think  I'm  goin'  to  act  as  leader  fer  a  lot  o' 
snifflin'  idiots  that  don't  know  whar  they  are  at  or 
how  they  got  thar?  It  may  not  be  parliamentary 
by  a  long  shot,  but  as  chairman  o'  this  meetin'  I'm 
goin'  to  say  that  I  think  you've  all  made  a  mess 

202 


Pole     Baker 

of  the  whole  thing.  I  'lowed  I  could  abide  by  what 
the  majority  done  in  any  matter  that  was  pendin' 
before  us,  but  I'll  be  derned  ef  I'm  in  favor  o' 
tetchin'  that  thar  man.  I'd  every  bit  as  soon  drag 
my  old  mammy  from  the  grave  an'  whip  her  as  a 
man  feelin'  like  that  thar  'un.  I  believe  Pole  Baker's 
tried  as  hard  as  any  livin'  mortal  to  behave  hisse'f, 
an'  that's  enough.  A  gang  o'  men  that's  goin' 
about  whippin'  folks  who's  doin'  the'r  level  best 
ort  to  be  in  better  business,  an'  from  to-night  on 
— oath  or  no  oath — I'm  a-goin'  to  let  the  law  o'  the 
land  manage  the  conduct  o'  my  neighbors,  as  fur 
as  I  am  concerned.  It  may  be  contrary  to  par 
liamentary  rules,  as  I  say,  but  this  damn  thing 
is  so  lopsided  to-night  that  I'm  a-goin'  to  put  it 
to  another  vote.  Maybe,  ef  Pole  had  a  -  been 
allowed  to  'a'  made  a  statement  you'd  'a'  seed  this 
thing  different.  Now,  all  in  favor  of  enactin'  the 
verdict  of  our  court  in  this  case  hold  up  yore 
hands." 

There  was  a  portentous  pause.  Not  a  hand  was 
raised. 

"  See  thar?  What  did  I  tell  you?"  Dilworthy  ex 
claimed,  in  disgust.  "  Not  a  man  amongst  you  knows 
his  own  mind.  Now,  to  the  contrary:  all  in  favor  o' 
sendin'  Baker  home  without  tetchin'  him  raise  yore 
hands." 

Every  hand  went  up.  Pole  stared  blankly  from 
one  stiff  token  of  pity  to  another,  then  his  head 
went  down.  The  brim  of  his  old  hat  hid  his  face. 
He  was  silent.  The  crowd  was  filtering  away. 
Soon  only  Jeff  Wade  was  left.  He  gave  Pole  his 
hand,  and  in  an  awkward  voice  said:  "Go  home 
»4  203 


Pole    Baker 

now,    old   friend.     Don't   let    Sally   suspicion   this. 
It  would  hurt  her  mighty  bad." 

Pole  said  nothing  at  all,  but,  returning  Wade's 
hand-pressure,  he  moved  away  in  the  soft  moon 
light. 


XXIV 

[HE  following  Sunday  morning  Nelson 
Floyd  went  to  church.  From  the  door 
way  he  descried  a  vacant  seat  on  the 
side  of  the  house  occupied  by  the  men 
and  boys,  and  when  he  had  taken  it  and 
looked  over  the  well-filled  room,  he  saw  that  he  had 
Cynthia  Porter  in  plain  view.  She  had  come  alone. 
A  few  seats  behind  her  he  saw  Pole  Baker  and  his 
wife.  Pole  had  never  looked  better.  He  wore  a 
new  suit  of  clothes  and  had  recently  had  his  hair 
trimmed.  Floyd  tried  to  catch  his  eye,  but  Pole 
looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  seeming  only  in 
tent  on  Hillhouse,  who  had  risen  to  read  the  chap 
ter  from  the  Bible  which  contained  the  text  for  his 
sermon.  In  their  accustomed  places  sat  Captain 
Duncan  and  his  daughter  Evelyn.  The  old  gentle 
man  had  placed  his  silk-hat  on  the  floor  at  the  end 
of  the  bench  on  which  he  sat,  and  his  kid-gloved 
hands  rested  on  his  gold-headed,  ebony  cane,  which 
stood  erect  between  his  knees. 

When  the  service  was  over  and  the  congregation 
was  passing  out,  Floyd  waited  for  Cynthia,  whom 
he  saw  coming  out  immediately  behind  the  Duncans. 
"  Hello,  Floyd ;  how  are  you  ?"  the  captain  exclaimed, 
cordially,  as  he  came  up.  "  Going  home  ?  Daughter 
and  I  have  a  place  for  you  in  the  carriage  and  will 

205 


Pole     Baker 

drop  you  at  the  hotel — that  is,  if  you  won't  let  us 
take  you  on  to  dinner." 

Floyd  flushed.  Cynthia  was  now  quite  near,  and 
he  saw  from  her  face  that  she  had  overheard  the 
invitation. 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  captain,"  Floyd  said, 
as  he  smiled  and  nodded  to  her,  "but  I  see  that 
Miss  Cynthia  is  alone,  and  I  was  just  waiting  to  ask 
her  to  let  me  walk  home  with  her." 

"Ah,  I  see!"  Duncan  exclaimed,  with  a  gallant 
bow  and  smile  to  Cynthia.  "  I  wouldn't  break  up  a 
nice  thing  like  that  if  I  could.  I  haven't  forgotten 
my  young  days,  and  this  is  the  time  of  the  year, 
my  boy,  when  the  grass  is  green  and  the  sun  drives 
you  into  the  shade." 

With  a  very  haughty  nod  to  Floyd  and  Cynthia 
together,  Evelyn  Duncan  walked  stiffly  on  ahead 
of  her  father. 

Outside,  Cynthia  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of 
her  escort. 

"Why  did  you  refuse  Captain  Duncan's  invita 
tion?"  she  asked. 

"  Why  did  I  ?"  He  laughed,  mysteriously.  "  Be 
cause  during  service  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I'd 
get  to  you  before  the  parson  did ;  and  then  I  had 
other  reasons." 

"What  were  they?" 

"Gossip,"  he  said,  with  a  low,  significant  laugh. 

"Gossip?  I  don't  understand,"  Cynthia  said, 
perplexed. 

"Well,  I  heard,"  Floyd  replied,  "that  since  I've 
been  finally  invited  to  Duncan's  house  I'll  run 
there  night  and  day,  and  that  it  will  end  in  my 

206 


Pole    Baker 

marrying  that  little  bunch  of  lace  and  ribbons.  I 
heard  other  speculations,  too,  on  my  future  conduct, 
and  as  I  saw  our  village  talker,  Mrs.  Snodgrass,  was 
listening  just  now,  I  was  tickled  at  the  chance  to 
decline  the  invitation  and  walk  home  with  you.  It 
will  be  all  over  the  country  by  night." 

They  were  traversing  a  cool,  shaded  road  now, 
and  as  most  of  the  congregation  had  taken  other 
directions,  they  were  comparatively  alone. 

"Evelyn  Duncan  is  in  love  with  you,"  Cynthia 
said,  abruptly,  her  glance  on  the  ground. 

"That's  ridiculous,"  Floyd  laughed.  "Simply 
ridiculous." 

"  I  know — I  saw  it  in  her  face  when  you  said  you 
were  going  home  with  me.  She  could  have  bitten 
my  head  off." 

"Good  gracious,  I've  never  talked  with  her  more 
than  two  or  three  times  in  all  my  life." 

"That  may  be,  but  she  has  heard  dozens  of 
people  say  it  will  be  just  the  thing  for  you  to  marry 
her,  and  she  has  wondered—  Cynthia  stopped. 

"Look  here,  little  woman,  we've  had  enough  of 
this,"  Floyd  said,  abruptly.  "I  saw  the  light  in 
your  room  the  other  night,  and  I  stood  and  whistled 
and  whistled,  but  you  wouldn't  come  to  me.  I  had 
a  lot  to  tell  you." 

"I  told  you  I'd  never  meet  you  that  way  again, 
and  I  meant  it."  Cynthia  was  looking  straight  into 
his  eyes. 

"  I  know  you  did,  but  I  thought  you  might  relent. 
I  was  chock  full  of  my  new  discovery — or  rather 
Pole  Baker's — and  I  wanted  to  pour  it  out  on 
you." 

207 


Pole    Baker 

" Of  course,  you  are  happy  over  it?"  Cynthia  said, 
tentatively. 

"  It  has  been  the  one  great  experience  of  my  life," 
said  Floyd,  impressively.  "  No  one  who  has  not 
been  through  it,  Cynthia,  can  have  any  idea  of  what 
it  means.  It  is  on  my  mind  at  night  when  I  go  to 
bed ;  it  is  in  my  dreams ;  it  is  in  my  thoughts  when  I 
get  up." 

"I  wanted  to  know  about  your  mother,"  vent 
ured  the  girl,  reverently.  "What  was  she  like?" 

"That  is  right  where  I'm  in  the  dark,"  Floyd 
answered.  "  Pole  didn't  get  my  new  relative  to  say 
a  thing  about  her.  I  would  have  written  to  him  at 
length,  but  Pole  advised  me  to  wait  till  I  could  see 
him  personally.  My  uncle  seems  to  be  a  crusty,  de 
spondent,  unlucky  sort  of  old  fellow,  and,  as  there 
was  a  kind  of  estrangement  between  him  and  my 
father,  Pole  thinks  it  would  irritate  him  to  have  to 
answer  my  letters.  However,  I  am  going  down  to 
Atlanta  to  call  on  him  next  Wednesday." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Cynthia.  "Speaking  of  Pole 
Baker — I  suppose  you  heard  of  what  the  White 
Caps  did  the  other  night?" 

"Yes,  and  it  pained  me  deeply,"  said  Floyd,  "for 
I  was  the  indirect  cause  of  the  whole  trouble." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  Pole  is  this  way:  It  is  usually  some  big 
trouble  or  great  joy  that  throws  him  off  his  balance, 
and  it  was  the  good  news  he  brought  to  me  that 
upset  him.  It  was  in  my  own  room  at  the  hotel, 
too,  that  he  found  the  whiskey.  A  bottle  of  it  was 
on  my  table  and  he  slipped  it  into  his  pocket  and 
took  it  off  with  him.  I  never  missed  it  till  I  heard 

208 


Pole     Baker 

he  was  on  a  spree.  His  friends  are  trying  to  keep 
his  wife  from  finding  out  about  the  White  Caps." 

"They  needn't  trouble  further,"  Cynthia  said, 
bitterly.  "  I  was  over  there  yesterday.  Mrs.  Snod- 
grass  had  just  told  her  about  it,  and  I  thought  the 
poor  woman  would  die.  She  ordered  Mrs.  Snod- 
grass  out  of  the  house,  telling  her  never  to  darken 
her  door  again,  and  she  stood  on  the  porch,  as  white 
as  death,  screaming  after  her  at  the  top  of  her 
voice.  Mrs.  Snodgrass  was  so  frightened  that  she 
actually  broke  into  a  run." 

"The  old  hag!"  Floyd  said,  darkly.  "I  wish  the 
same  gang  would  take  her  out  some  night  and  tie 
her  tongue  at  least." 

"Mrs.  Baker  came  back  to  me  then,"  Cynthia 
went  on.  "  She  put  her  head  in  my  lap  and  sobbed 
as  if  her  heart  would  break.  Nothing  I  could 
possibly  say  would  comfort  her.  She  worships  the 
ground  Pole  walks  on.  And  she  ought  to  love  him. 
He's  good  and  noble  and  full  of  tenderness.  She 
saw  him  coming  while  we  were  talking,  and  quickly 
dried  her  eyes. 

'"He  mustn't  see  me  crying,'  she  said.  'If  he 
thought  I  knew  this  he  would  never  get  over  it.' 

"  He  came  in  then  and  noticed  her  red  eyes,  and 
I  saw  him  turn  pale  as  he  sat  studying  her  face. 
Then  to  throw  him  off  she  told  him  a  fib.  She 
told  him  I'd  been  taking  her  into  my  confidence 
about  something  which  she  was  not  at  liberty  to 
reveal." 

"Ah,  I  see,"  exclaimed  Floyd,  admiringly.  "She's 
a  shrewd  little  woman — nearly  as  shrewd  as  he  is." 

"But  he  acted  queerly  after  that,  I  must  say," 
209 


Pole    Baker 

Cynthia  went  on.  "  He  at  once  quit  looking  at  her, 
and  sat  staring  at  me  in  the  oddest  way.  I  spoke 
to  him,  but  he  wouldn't  answer.  When  I  was  going 
home,  he  followed  me  as  far  as  the  barn.  '  You 
couldn't  tell  me  that  secret,  could  you,  little  sister?' 
he  said,  with  a  strange,  excited  look  on  his  face. 
Of  course,  I  saw  that  he  thought  it  was  some  trouble 
of  mine,  but  I  couldn't  set  him  right  and  be  true 
to  his  wife,  and  so  I  said  nothing.  He  walked  on 
with  me  to  the  branch,  still  looking  worried;  then, 
when  we  were  about  to  part,  he  held  out  his  hand. 
'  I  want  to  say  right  here,  little  sister,'  he  said,  'that 
I  love  you  like  a  brother,  and  if  any  harm  comes  to 
you,  in  any  way,  I'll  be  with  you." 

"He's  very  queer,"  said  Floyd,  thoughtfully. 
They  were  now  near  the  house  and  he  paused. 
"I'll  not  go  any  farther,"  he  said.  "It  will  do  no 
good  to  disturb  your  mother.  She  hates  the  ground 
I  walk  on.  She  will  only  make  it  unpleasant  for 
you  if  she  sees  us  together.  Good-bye,  I'll  see  you 
when  I  get  back  from  Atlanta." 


XXV 

following  Wednesday  afternoon, 
when  he  had  concluded  his  business  at 
one  of  the  larger  wholesale  houses  in 
Atlanta,  Nelson  Floyd  took  a  street-car 
for  his  uncle's  residence.  Reaching  it, 
he  was  met  at  the  door  by  the  white  woman  who  had 
admitted  Pole  Baker  to  the  house  on  his  visit  to 
Atlanta.  She  explained  that  her  master  had  only 
gone  across  the  street  to  see  a  neighbor,  and  that  he 
would  be  back  at  once.  She  led  Floyd  into  the  old- 
fashioned  parlor  and  gave  him  one  of  the  dilapidated, 
hair-cloth  chairs,  remaining  in  the  room  to  put  a  few 
things  to  rights,  and  dusting  the  furniture  with  her 
apron.  On  either  side  of  the  mantel-piece  hung  a 
crude  oil-portrait,  in  cracked  and  chipped  gilt  frames 
of  very  massive  make.  The  one  on  the  right  was 
that  of  a  dark-haired  gentleman  in  the  conventional 
dress  of  seventy-five  years  previous.  The  other  was 
evidently  his  wife,  a  woman  of  no  little  beauty. 
They  were  doubtless  family  portraits,  and  Floyd 
regarded  them  with  reverential  interest.  The  ser 
vant  saw  him  looking  at  them  and  remarked: 

"They  are  Mr.  Floyd's  mother  and  father,  sir. 
The  pictures  were  made  a  long  time  ago.  Old  Mr. 
Floyd  was  a  very  smart  man  in  his  day,  and  his  wife 
was  considered  a  great  beauty  and  a  belle,  so  I've 
heard  folks  say,  though  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  how 

211 


Pole    Baker 

any  woman  could  be  popular  with  her  hair  fixed 
that  bungly  way.  But  Mr.  Floyd  is  very  prcud  of 
the  pictures.  He  wouldn't  sell  them  for  any  price. 
We  thought  the  house  was  going  to  burn  down  one 
day  when  the  kitchen  -  stove  turned  over,  and  he 
sprained  his  ankle  climbing  up  in  a  chair  to  get  them 
down." 

"They  are  my  grandparents,"  he  told  her. 

"You  don't  say!    Then  you  are  Mr.  Floyd's — " 

"I'm  his  nephew.  My  name  is  Floyd — Nelson 
Floyd.  I've  never  met  my  uncle." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  The  woman's  brow  was  corrugated. 
"  Mr.  Floyd  did  have  a  brother  who  died  young,  but 
I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  him  speak  of  him.  But 
he  don't  talk  much  to  anybody,  and  now — la  me! — 
he's  so  worried  over  his  business  that  he's  as  near 
crazy  as  any  man  I  ever  saw.  You  say  you  haven't 
ever  seen  him!  Then  you'd  better  not  expect  him 
to  be  very  sociable.  As  I  say,  he's  all  upset  over 
business.  The  way  he's  doing  is  the  talk  of  the 
neighborhood.  There,  I  heard  the  gate  shut.  I 
reckon  that's  him  now." 

She  went  to  one  of  the  front  windows  and  parted 
the  curtains  and  looked  out. 

"Yes,  that's  him.  I'll  go  and  tell  him  you  are 
here." 

Nelson  heard  the  door  open  and  close  and  then 
muffled  voices,  a  gruff,  masculine  one,  and  that  of 
the  servant  lowered  persuasively.  Heavy  steps 
passed  on  down  the  hall,  and  then  the  woman  came 
back. 

"I  told  him  you  was  here,  sir,"  she  said.  "He's 
gone  to  his  room,  but  will  be  back  in  a  minute. 

212 


Pole    Baker 

He's  queer,  sir;  if  you  haven't  seen  him  before  you 
had  as  well  be  prepared  for  that.  I  heard  Dr. 
Plympton  say  the  other  day  that  if  he  didn't  stop 
worrying  as  he  is  that  he'd  have  a  stroke  of 
paralysis." 

The  woman  retired  and  the  visitor  sat  for  several 
moments  alone.  Presently  he  heard  the  heavy 
steps  in  the  hall  and  Henry  A.  Floyd  came  in.  He 
was  very  pale,  his  skin  appearing  almost  ashen  in 
color,  and  his  eyes,  under  their  heavy  brows,  had  a 
restless,  shifting  expression.  Nelson  felt  repelled  in 
a  way  he  could  not  account  for.  The  old  man  fail 
ed  to  offer  any  greeting,  and  it  was  only  the  caller's 
extended  hand  that  seemed  to  remind  him  of  the 
courtesy  due  a  stranger.  Even  then  only  the  ends 
of  his  cold  fingers  touched  those  of  the  young  man. 
A  thrill  of  intense  and  disagreeable  surprise  passed 
over  Nelson,  for  his  uncle  stood  staring  at  him 
steadily,  without  uttering  a  word. 

"  Did  your  servant  tell  you  who  I  am  ?"  the  young 
man  ventured,  in  no  little  embarrassment. 

"Yes,  she  told  me,"  old  Floyd  answered.  "She 
told  me." 

"From  your  stand -point,  sir,"  Nelson  said,  "per 
haps  I  have  little  excuse  for  coming  to  see  you  with 
out  an  intimation  from  you  that  such  a  visit  would 
be  welcome,  but  I  confess  I  was  so  anxious  to  hear 
something  from  you  about  my  parents  that  I  couldn't 
wait  longer." 

"Huh,  I  see,  I  see!"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  his 
glance  on  the  floor. 

"You  may  understand  my  eagerness  more  fully," 
said  Nelson,  "when  I  tell  you  that  you  are  the  first 

213 


Pole    Baker 

and  only  blood  relative  I  remember  ever  to  have 
seen." 

The  old  man  shrugged  his  bent  shoulders,  and 
Nelson  was  almost  sure  that  he  sneered,  but  no 
sound  came  from  his  tightly  compressed  lips. 

The  young  man,  in  even  greater  embarrassment, 
looked  at  the  portraits  on  the  wall,  and,  for  the  lack 
of  anything  more  appropriate  to  say,  remarked: 
"Your  servant  tells  me  that  these  are  my  grand 
parents — your  father  and  mother." 

"Yes,  they  are  my  parents,"  the  old  man  said, 
deep  down  in  his  throat.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  his 
eyes  began  to  flash  angrily.  "That  old  hussy's 
been  talking  behind  my  back,  has  she?  I'll  teach 
her  what  her  place  is  in  my  house,  if— 

"Oh,  she  only  answered  a  question  or  two  of 
mine,"  said  Nelson,  pacifically.  "I  told  her  you 
were  my  uncle  and  for  that  reason  I  was  interested 
in  family  portraits." 

"  Your  uncle  /"  That  was  all  the  reply  old  Floyd 
made. 

Nelson  stared  at  him  in  deep  perplexity  for  a 
moment,  then  he  said :  "  I  hope  I  am  not  on  the 
wrong  track,  sir.  A  friend  of  mine — a  rough  moun 
taineer,  it's  true,  but  a  sterling  fellow — called  here 
some  time  ago,  and  he  came  back  and  told  me  that 
.you  said — " 

"  He  came  here  like  the  spy  that  he  was,"  snorted 
the  old  man.  "  He  came  here  to  my  house  pretend 
ing  to  want  to  rent  land,  and  in  that  way  got  into 
my  confidence  and  had  me  talk  about  family 
matters;  but  he  didn't  want  to  rent  land.  When 
he  failed  to  come  back  my  suspicions  were  roused  and 

214 


Pole    Baker 

I  made  inquiries.  I  found  out  that  he  was  the 
sharpest,  keenest  man  among  mountain  revenue 
detectives,  and  that  he  had  no  idea  of  leaving  his 
present  location.  Now  I'd  simply  like  to  know 
what  you  and  he  are  after.  I  haven't  got  anything 
for  you — not  a  dollar  in  the  world,  nor  any  property 
that  isn't  mortgaged  up  to  the  hilt.  Why  did  you 
send  a  man  of  that  kind  to  me?" 

"  You  actually  astound  me,  sir,"  Nelson  said.  "  I 
hardly  know  what  to  say." 

"  I  reckon  you  don't — now  that  I  hurl  the  un 
expected  truth  into  your  teeth.  You  didn't  think 
I'd  be  sharp  enough  to  inquire  about  that  fellow 
Baker,  did  you  ?  You  thought  a  man  living  here  in 
a  city  as  big  as  this  would  let  a  green  country  lout 
like  that  get  him  in  a  trap.  Huh!  But  I  wasn't  a 
fool,  sir.  You  thought  you  were  getting  facts  from 
me  through  him,  but  you  were  not,  by  a  long  shot. 
I  wasn't  going  to  tell  a  stranger  like  that  delicate 
family  matters.  God  knows  your  father's  conduct 
was  disgraceful  enough  without  my  unfolding  his 
life  to  a  coarse  greenhorn  so  long  after  his  death. 
You  know  the  reputation  my  brother  Charles  had, 
don't  you?" 

"Not  till  it  came  from  you,  sir,"  said  Nelson, 
coldly.  "Baker  told  me  you  said  he  was  a  little 
wild,  that  he  drank— 

"My  father  kicked  him  out  of  our  home,  I  tell 
you,"  the  old  man  snapped.  "He  told  him  never 
to  darken  his  door  again,  after  the  way  he  lived 
before  the  war  and  during  it.  It  completely  broke 
that  woman's  heart. "  Old  Floyd  pointed  a  trembling 
finger  at  his  mother's  portrait.  "I  don't  under- 

215 


Pole    Baker 

stand  why  you — how  you  can  come  here  as  you  do, 
calling  me  your  uncle  as  if  you  had  a  right  to  do  so." 

"Right  to  do  so? — stop!"  Nelson  took  him  up 
sharply.  "What  do  you  mean?  I've  the  right  to 
ask  that,  sir,  anyway." 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean,  I  reckon.  That 
man  Baker  intimated  that  you  knew  all  about  your 
family  history.  You  know  that  your  mother  and 
my  poor,  deluded  brother  were  never  married,  that 
they—" 

"  Not  married!"  Nelson  Floyd  shrank  as  if  he  had 
been  struck  in  the  face.  "  For  God's  sake  don't 
say  that!  I  can  stand  anything  but  that." 

"  I  won't  ask  you  to  believe  me  without  ample 
proof,"  old  Floyd  answered,  harshly.  "Wait  here 
a  minute." 

Nelson  sank  into  a  chair,  and  pale  and  trembling, 
and  with  a  heart  that  seemed  dead  within  him,  he 
watched  the  old  man  move  slowly  from  the  room. 
Old  Floyd  returned  presently.  An  expression  that 
seemed  born  of  grim,  palpitating  satisfaction  lay  on 
his  colorless  face;  a  triumphant  light  blazed  in  his 
sullen  eyes.  He  held  some  books  and  a  package 
of  letters  in  his  hands. 

"  Here  are  your  father's  letters  to  my  parents,"  he 
began.  "  The  letters  will  tell  the  whole  story.  They 
bear  his  signature.  If  you  doubt  their  authenticity 
—if  you  think  the  name  is  forged,  you  can  compare 
it  to  all  the  specimens  of  his  writing  in  these  old 
school-books  of  his.  This  is  a  diary  he  kept  in 
college.  You  can  see  from  its  character  how  his  life 
was  tending.  The  letters  are  later,  after  he  met 
your  mother — a  French  girl — in  New  Orleans," 

316 


Pole    Baker 

For  a  moment  Nelson  stared  up  into  the  withered 
face  above  him,  and  then,  with  a  groan  of  dawning 
conviction,  he  took  the  letters.  He  opened  the  one 
on  the  top. 

How  strange!  The  handwriting  was  not  unlike 
his  own.  But  that  was  too  trivial  to  marvel  over. 
It  was  the  contents  of  the  letter  that  at  once 
benumbed  and  tore  his  heart  in  twain. 

"Dear  father  and  mother,"  it  began;  "I  am  longing  for 
the  old  home  to-night;  but,  as  you  say,  it  is  perhaps  best 
that  I  should  never  come  back  again,  especially  as  the 
facts  are  known  in  the  neighborhood.  The  things  you 
write  me  in  regard  to  Annette's  past  are,  alas!  only  too  true. 
I  don't  deny  them.  Perhaps  I'm  the  only  one  in  the 
world  who  will  overlook  them,  for  I  happen  to  know  how 
she  was  tried  by  poverty  and  temptation  when  she  was 
hardly  more  than  a  child.  But  on  one  point  I  can  set  your 
minds  at  rest.  You  seem  to  think  that  I  intend  to  marry 
her;  but  I  promise  you  now  that  I  shall  never  link  your 
honored  name  to  hers.  Really  the  poor  girl  doesn't  wish 
it.  She  seems  to  understand  how  you  feel  exactly.  And 
the  baby!  you  are  worried  over  its  future.  Let  that  go. 
As  soon  as  the  war  is  over,  I  shall  do  my  full  duty  by  it. 
It  is  nameless,  as  you  say,  and  that  fact  may  sting  it  later 
in  life,  but  such  things  have  happened  before,  and,  my 
dear  father  and  mother,  young  men  have  fallen  into  bad 
ways  before,  and — " 

Nelson  Floyd  read  no  further.  Turning  the  time- 
stained  sheet  over,  he  saw  his  father's  signature. 
With  lifeless  fingers  he  opened  one  or  two  of  the 
other  letters.  He  tried  to  glance  at  the  fly-leaves 
of  the  books  on  his  quivering  knees,  but  there  was 
a  blur  before  his  sight.  The  scrawny  hands  of  the 
old  man  were  stretched  out  to  prevent  the  mass 
from  falling  to  the  floor. 

217 


Pole     Baker 

"Are  you  satisfied?  That's  the  main  thing,"  he 
said.  "  Because,  if  you  are  not,  there  are  plenty  of 
legal  records  which — 

"  I  am  satisfied."  Nelson  stood  up,  his  inert  hand 
on  the  back  of  the  rocking  -  chair  he  had  just  va 
cated. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  if  you  are  not  I  can  give  you 
further  proof.  I  can  cite  to  you  old  legal  documents 
to  which  my  brother  signed  his  name.  He  got  hard 
up  and  sold  a  piece  of  land  to  me  once.  I  have  that 
deed.  You  are  welcome  to— 

"I  am  satisfied."  Those  words  seemed  the  only 
ones  of  which  the  young  man's  bewildered  brain  were 
capable.  But  he  was  a  gentleman  to  the  core  of  his 
being.  "  I'm  sorry  I  intruded  on  you,  Mr.  Floyd. 
Only  blind  ignorance  on  my  part —  He  went  no 
further. 

The  inanimate  objects  about  him,  the  chairs,  the 
table,  the  door  towards  which  he  was  moving,  seemed 
to  have  life. 

"Well,  good -day."  Old  Floyd  remained  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  the  books  and  letters  held 
awkwardly  under  his  stiff  arm.  "  I  see  that  you 
were  not  expecting  this  revelation,  but  you  might 
as  well  have  been  told  to-day  as  later.  I  under 
stand  that  the  Duncans  and  Prices  up  your  way  are 
under  wrong  impressions  about  your  social  stand- 
'ing,  but  I  didn't  want  to  be  the  one  to  open  their 
eyes.  I  really  don't  care  myself.  However,  a  thing 
like  that  is  sure  to  get  out  sooner  or  later." 

"They  shall  know  the  truth,"  said  Floyd,  with  the 
lips  of  a  dead  man.  "  I  shall  not  sail  under  false 
colors.  Good-day,  Mr.  Floyd." 

218 


Pole    Baker 

Out  into  the  broad,  balmy  sunlight  the  young 
man  went.  There  was  a  despondent  droop  upon 
him.  His  step  was  slow  and  uncertain,  his  feet 
seemed  to  him  to  have  weights  attached  to  them. 
He  walked  on  to  the  corner  of  the  next  street  and 
leaned  against  a  tree.  From  the  city's  palpitating 
heart  and  stony  veins  came  the  hum  of  traffic  on 
wheels,  the  clanging  of  bells,  the  escaping  of  steam. 
Near  by  some  one  was  practising  a  monotonous 
exercise  on  a  piano.  He  looked  up  at  the  sky  with 
the  stare  of  a  subject  under  hypnotic  influence. 

A  lump  was  in  his  dry  throat.  He  made  an  effort 
to  swallow  it  down,  but  it  stuck  and  pained  him. 
Persons  passing  caught  sight  of  his  face  and  threw 
back  stares  of  mute  inquiry  as  they  moved  on. 
After  half  an  hour  of  aimless  wandering  here  and 
there  through  the  crowded  streets,  he  paused  at  the 
door  of  a  bar-room.  He  recognized  the  big  gilt  sign 
on  the  plate-glass  windows,  and  remembered  being 
there  years  before  at  midnight  with  some  jolly 
friends  and  being  taken  to  his  hotel  in  a  cab.  After 
all,  whiskey  now,  as  then,  would  furnish  forget- 
fulness,  and  that  was  his  right.  He  went  in  and  sat 
down  at  a  little  round  table  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 
On  a  shelf  near  him  was  a  bowl  of  brown  pretzels, 
a  plate  of  salted  pop  -  corn,  a  saucer  of  parched 
coffee-beans  mixed  with  cloves.  One  of  the  bar 
tenders  came  to  him,  a  towel  over  his  arm.  "What 
will  you  have,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"Rye  whiskey  straight,"  said  the  customer,  his 
eyes  on  the  sawdust  at  his  feet.  "  Bring  the  bottle 
along." 

IS 


XXVI 

7O  Cynthia  the  day  on  which  she  ex 
pected  Floyd  to  return  from  Atlanta 
passed  slowly.  Something  told  her  that 
he  would  come  straight  to  her  from  the 
station,  on  his  arrival,  and  she  was 
impatient  to  hear  his  news.  The  hack  usually 
brought  passengers  over  at  six  o'clock,  and  at  that 
time  she  was  on  the  porch  looking  expectantly 
down  the  road  leading  to  the  village.  But  he  did 
not  come.  Seven  o'clock  struck — eight ;  supper  was 
over  and  her  parents  and  her  grandmother  were  in 
bed. 

"I  simply  will  not  go  to  meet  him  in  the  grape- 
arbor  any  more,"  she  said  to  herself.  "He  is  wait 
ing  to  come  later,  but  I'll  not  go  out,  as  much  as  I'd 
like  to  hear  about  his  mother.  He  thinks  my 
curiosity  will  drive  me  to  it,  but  he  shall  see." 

However,  when  alone  in  her  room  she  paced  the 
floor  in  an  agony  of  indecision  and  beset  by  strange, 
unaccountable  forebodings.  Might  not  something 
have  happened  to  him?  At  nine  o'clock  she  was 
in  bed,  but  not  asleep.  At  half-past  nine  she  got 
up.  The  big  bed  of  feathers  seemed  a  great, 
smothering  instrument  of  torture ;  she  could  scarce 
ly  get  her  breath.  Throwing  a  shawl  over  her,  she 
went  out  on  the  porch  and  sat  down  in  a  chair. 

220 


Pole    Baker 

She  had  been  there  only  a  moment  when  she  heard 
her  mother's  step  in  the  hall,  and,  turning  her  head, 
she  saw  the  gaunt  old  woman's  form  in  the  door 
way. 

"I  heard  you  walking  about,"  Mrs.  Porter  said, 
coldly,  "and  got  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
Are  you  sick?" 

"No,  mother,  I  simply  am  not  sleepy,  that's  all." 

The  old  woman  advanced  a  step  nearer,  her  sharp 
eyes  on  the  girl's  white  night-gown  and  bare  feet. 
"Good  gracious!"  she  cried.  "You'll  catch  your 
death  of  cold.  Go  -in  the  house  this  minute.  I'll 
bet  I  know  why  you  can't  sleep.  You  are  worried 
about  what  people  are  saying  about  Nelson  Floyd's 
marrying  Evelyn  Duncan  and  throwing  you  over,  as 
he  no  doubt  has  many  other  girls." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  it,  mother."  Cynthia  rose 
and  started  in.  "  He  can  marry  her  if  he  wants  to." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  can  pretend  all  you  like.  I  reckon 
your  pride  would  make  you  defend  yourself.  Now, 
go  in  the  house." 

In  the  darkness  of  her  room  Cynthia  sat  on  the 
side  of  her  bed.  She  heard  her  mother's  bare  feet  as 
the  old  woman  went  along  the  hall  back  to  her  room 
in  the  rear.  Floyd  might  be  in  the  grape-arbor  now. 
As  her  light  was  extinguished,  he  would  think  she 
had  gone  to  bed,  and  he  would  not  whistle.  Then 
a  great,  chilling  doubt  struck  her.  Perhaps  he  had 
really  gone  to  Duncan's  to  see  Evelyn.  But  no, 
a  warm  glow  stole  over  her  as  she  remembered  that 
he  had  declined  to  go  home  from  church  in  the 
captain's  carriage  that  he  might  walk  with  her.  No, 
it  was  not  that;  but  perhaps  some  accident  had 

221 


Pole    Baker 

happened  to  him — the  stage-horses  might  have  be 
come  frightened  on  that  dangerous  mountain  road. 
The  driver  was  often  intoxicated,  and  in  that  con 
dition  was  known  to  be  reckless.  Cynthia  threw 
herself  back  in  bed  and  pulled  the  light  covering 
over  her,  but  she  did  not  go  to  sleep  till  far  towards 
morning. 

The  sun  was  up  when  she  awoke.  Her  mother 
was  standing  near  her,  a  half-repentant  look  flitting 
over  her  wrinkled  face. 

"Don't  get  up  unless  you  feel  like  it,"  she  said. 
"I've  done  your  work  and  am  keeping  your  coffee 
and  breakfast  warm." 

"  Thank  you,  mother."  Cynthia  sat  up,  her  mind 
battling  with  both  dreams  and  realities. 

"You  don't  look  like  you  are  well,"  Mrs.  Porter 
said.  "  I  watched  you  before  you  waked  up.  You 
are  awfully  dark  under  the  eyes." 

"I'll  feel  all  right  when  I  am  up  and  stirring 
around,"  Cynthia  said,  avoiding  her  mother's  close 
scrutiny.  "  I  tell  you  I'm  not  sick." 

When  she  had  dressed  herself  and  gone  out  into 
the  dining  -  room  she  found  a  delicious  breakfast 
waiting  for  her,  but  she  scarcely  touched  the  food. 
The  coffee  she  drank  for  its  stimulating  effect,  and 
felt  better.  All  that  morning,  however,  she  was  the 
helpless  victim  of  recurring  forebodings.  When 
her  father  came  in  from  the  village  at  noon  she  hung 
about  him,  hoping  that  he  would  drop  some  ob 
servation  from  which  she  might  learn  if  Floyd  had 
returned,  but  the  quaint  old  gossip  seemed  to  talk 
of  everything  except  the  subject  to  which  her  soul 
seemed  bound. 

222 


Pole     Baker 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Porter 
said  she  wanted  a  spool  of  cotton  thread,  and 
Cynthia  offered  to  go  to  the  village  for  it. 

"  Not  in  this  hot  sun,"  the  old  woman  objected. 

"  I  could  keep  in  the  shade  all  the  way,"  Cynthia 
told  her. 

"Well,  if  you'll  do  that,  you  may  go,"  Mrs. 
Porter  gave  in.  "I  don't  know  but  what  the 
exercise  will  do  you  good.  I  tell  you,  I  don't  like 
the  looks  of  your  skin  and  eyes.  I'm  afraid  you  are 
going  to  take  down  sick.  You  didn't  touch  break 
fast  and  ate  very  little  dinner." 

Cynthia  managed  to  laugh  reassuringly  as  she 
went  for  her  hat  and  sunshade.  Indeed,  the  pros 
pect  even  of  activity  had  driven  touches  of  color 
into  her  cheeks  and  her  step  was  light  and  alert  as 
she  started  off — so  at  least  thought  Mrs.  Porter,  who 
was  looking  after  her  from  a  window.  But  what 
did  the  trip  amount  to?  At  Mayhew  &  Floyd's 
store  Joe  Peters  waited  on  her  and  had  nothing  to 
say  of  Floyd.  While  the  clerk's  back  was  turned 
Cynthia  threw  a  guarded  glance  in  the  direction  of 
Floyd's  desk,  but  the  shadows  of  the  afternoon 
had  enveloped  that  part  of  the  room  in  obscurity, 
and  she  saw  nothing  that  would  even  indirectly 
reply  to  her  heart's  question.  It  was  on  her  tongue 
to  inquire  if  Floyd  had  returned,  but  her  pride  laid  a 
firm  hand  over  her  pretty  mouth,  and  with  her 
small  purchase  tightly  clasped  in  her  tense  fingers, 
she  went  out  into  the  street  and  turned  her  face 
homeward. 

The  next  day  passed  in  much  the  same  way,  and 
the  night.  Then  two  other  days  and  nights  of 

223 


Pole     Baker 

racking  torture  came  and  went.  The  very  lack  of 
interest  in  the  subject,  of  those  about  her,  was 
maddening.  She  was  sure  now  that  something  vital 
had  happened  to  her  lover,  and  Saturday  at  noon, 
when  her  father  came  from  the  village,  she  saw  that 
he  was  the  bearer  of  news.  She  knew,  too,  that  it 
concerned  Floyd  before  the  old  man  had  opened  his 
lips. 

"Well,  what  you  reckon  has  happened?"  Nathan 
asked,  with  one  of  his  unctuous  smiles.  "You  two 
women  could  guess,  an'  guess,  fer  two  thousand 
years,  an'  then  never  git  in  a  mile  o'  what  every 
body  in  town  is  talkin'  about." 

Cynthia's  heart  sank  like  a  plummet.  It  was 
coming  —  the  grim,  horrible  revelation  she  had 
feared.  But  her  father  was  subtly  enjoying  the 
blank  stare  in  her  eyes,  the  depth  of  which  was 
beyond  his  comprehension.  As  usual,  he  purposely 
hung  fire. 

"What  is  it,  Nathan?"  his  wife  said,  entreatingly. 
"Don't  keep  us  waiting  as  you  always  do."  She 
looked  at  Cynthia  and  remarked:  "It's  something 
out  of  the  common.  I  can  see  that  from  the  way  he 
begins." 

Porter  laughed  dryly.  "You  kin  bet  yore  sweet 
lives  it's  out  o'  the  common,  but  I  hain't  no  hand 
to  talk  when  my  throat's  parched  dry  with  thirst. 
I  cayn't  drink  that  town  water,  nohow.  Has  any 
fresh  been  fetched?" 

"Just  this  minute,"  declared  his  wife,  and  she 
hastened  to  the  water-shelf  in  the  entry,  returning 
with  a  dripping  gourd.  "  Here,  drink  it !  You  won't 
say  a  word  till  you  are  ready." 

224 


Pole    Baker 

Porter  drank  slowly.  "You  may  call  that  fresh 
water,"  he  sneered,  "but  you  wouldn't  of  you  had 
it  to  swallow.  I  reckon  you'd  call  old  stump  water 
fresh  ef  you  could  git  news  any  the  quicker  by  it. 
Well,  it's  about  Nelson  Floyd." 

"  Nelson  Floyd!"  gasped  Mrs.  Porter.  "  He's  gone 
and  married  Evelyn  Duncan — that's  my  guess." 

"No,  it  ain't  that,"  declared  Porter.  "An'  it 
ain't  another  Wade  gal  scrape  that  anybody 
knows  of.  The  fact  is  nobody  don't  know  what 
it  is.  Floyd  went  down  to  Atlanta  Wednesday, 
so  Mayhew  says,  to  lay  in  a  few  articles  o'  stock  that 
was  out,  an'  to  call  on  that  new  uncle  o'  his.  He 
was  to  be  back  Wednesday  night,  without  fail,  to 
draw  up  some  important  mortgages  fer  the  firm,  an' 
a  dozen  customers  has  been  helt  over  in  town  fer  two 
days.  They  all  had  to  go  back  without  transactin' 
business,  fer  Floyd  didn't  turn  up.  Nor  he  didn't 
write  a  line,  nuther.  And,  although  old  Mayhew 
has  been  firin'  telegrams  down  thar,  fust  to  Nelson 
an'  later  to  business  houses,  not  a  thing  has  been 
heard  o'  the  young  man  since  last  Wednesday. 
He  hain't  registered  at  no  hotel  in  Atlanta.  One 
man  has  been  found  that  said  he  knowed  Floyd 
by  sight,  an'  that  he  had  seed  'im  walkin'  about 
at  night  in  the  vilest  street  in  Atlanta  lookin' 
like  a  dead  man  or  one  plumb  bereft  of  his 
senses." 

Cynthia  stood  staring  at  her  father  with  ex 
panded  eyes,  and  then  she  sat  down  near  a  win 
dow,  her  face  averted  from  the  others.  She  said 
nothing. 

"He's  crazy,"  said  Mrs.   Porter.     "I've  always 
225 


Pole    Baker 

thought  something  was  wrong  with  that  man.  His 
whole  life  shows  it.  He  was  an  outlaw  when  he 
was  a  child,  and  when  he  grew  up  he  put  on  high 
an'  mighty  airs,  an'  started  to  drinkin'  like  a  lord. 
He'd  no  sooner  let  up  on  that  than  he  got  into  that 
Wade  trouble,  an' — " 

"  Some  think  he  was  drugged,  an'  maybe  put  out 
of  the  way  on  the  sly,"  said  Porter,  bluntly.  "But 
I  don't  know.  Thoughts  is  cheap. " 

"Hush,  Nathan!"  Mrs.  Porter  said,  under  her 
breath,  for  Cynthia  had  risen,  and  without  looking 
to  the  right  or  left  was  moving  from  the  room. 
"This  may  kill  that  poor  child." 

"  Kill  her,  a  dog's  hind  foot!"  Porter  sneered.  "  To 
be  a  woman  yorse'f,  you  are  the  porest  judge  of  'em 
I  ever  seed.  You  women  are  so  dead  anxious  to 
have  some  man  die  fer  you  that  you  think  the  same 
reckless  streak  runs  in  yore  own  veins.  You  all  said 
Minnie  Wade  had  tuck  powdered  glass  when  she  was 
sick  that  time  an'  was  goin'  to  pass  in  'er  checks  on 
this  feller's  account,  but  she  didn't  die  fer  him,  nor 
fer  Thad  Pelham,  nor  the  two  Thomas  boys,  nor 
Abe  Spring,  nor  none  o'  the  rest." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  speaking  of  your 
own  child  in  the  same  breath  with  that  girl,"  said 
Mrs.  Porter,  insincerely,  her  eyes  anxiously  on  the 
door  through  which  Cynthia  had  gone. 

"I  hain't  bunchin'  'em  together  at  all,"  Porter 
declared.  "  I  was  only  try  in'  to  keep  you  from 
layin'  in  a  burial  outfit  that  may  go  out  o'  fashion 
'fore  Cynthy  wants  to  use  it.  You  watch  'er  an' 
you'll  see  'er  pick  up  in  a  day  or  so.  I've  seed 
widows  wear  black  so  heavy  that  the  dye  in  the 

226 


Pole    Baker 

goods  seemed  to  soak  into  the'r  skins  an'  drip 
off'n  the'r  eyelashes,  an'  them  same  women  was 
wearin'  red  stockin's  an'  flirtin'  em  at  another  fool 
inside  of  a  month." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  re 
sponded  Mrs.  Porter.  "It  is  going  hard  with  her, 
but  I  really  hope  Floyd  '11  not  come  back  to  Spring- 
town.  I  don't  feel  safe  with  him  around." 

"You  don't  want  'im  here,"  sneered  Porter,  "but 
yo're  dead  sure  his  absence  is  a-goin'  to  lay  our  only 
child  under  the  sod.  That's  about  as  sensible  as  the 
stand  a  woman  takes  on  most  questions.  As  fer 
me,  I  confess  I'm  sorter  upset.  I'd  about  made  up 
my  mind  that  our  little  gal  was  goin'  to  yank  that 
chap  an'  his  boodle  into  this  family  before  long, 
but  it  looks  like  I  was  off  in  my  calculations.  To 
look  at  her  now,  a  body  wouldn't  think  she  was 
holdin'  the  drivin'-reins  very  tight.  But  come  what 
may,  storm,  hail,  wind,  rain,  or  sunshine  an'  fine 
crops,  I'll  be  the  only  one,  I  reckon,  in  this  house 
that  will  sleep  sound  to-night.  An'  that's  whar 
you  are  all  a  set  o'  fools.  A  person  that  loses  sleep 
wonderin'  whether  another  person  is  dead  or  alive 
mought  be  in  better  business,  in  this  day  and  time, 
when  just  anybody  is  liable  to  drap  dead  in  the'r 
tracks.  La,  me!  What  you  got  fer  dinner?  I 
smell  some'n'  a-cookin'." 

And  Porter  went  into  the  kitchen,  got  down  on  his 
knees  at  the  stove,  and  looked  into  it. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a 
chuckle,  "  but  she  hain't  put  half  enough  gravy  on  it, 
an'  ef  I  hadn't  a-been  here  to  'a'  turned  it,  it  'ud 
not  'a'  got  cooked  clean  through.  If  it's  tough  I'll 

227 


Pole    Baker 

raise  a  row.  I  told  'em  to  sell  the  tough  'uns. 
What's  the  use  o'  raisin'  hens  ef  you  have  to  eat 
the  scrubs  an'  don't  git  half-pay  fer  the  ones  you 
send  to  market?" 


XXVII 

WEEK  went  by.  To  Cynthia  its  days 
were  veritable  months  of  mental  tort 
ure.  Porter  came  in  one  day  at  sun 
down  from  the  village.  As  usual,  he 
had  something  to  say  regarding  the 
all-absorbing  topic  of  Nelson  Floyd's  mysterious  dis 
appearance.  Through  the  day  neighbors  had  been 
in  with  many  vague  and  groundless  rumors,  all  of 
which  were  later  discredited,  but  Nathan  Porter, 
sardonic  old  observer  that  hie  was,  usually  got 
nearer  the  facts  than  any  one  else,  and  in  consequence 
he  was  always  listened  to. 

"  What's  anybody  heard  now  ?"  his  wife  asked  him, 
as  he  came  through  the  gate  to  where  she  and 
Cynthia  sat  on  the  porch. 

"They've  heard  a  lots,"  he  said.  "Among  other 
things,  it's  finally  leaked  out  that  Lee's  surrendered 
an'  the  niggers  is  all  declared  free.  Some  say 
George  Washington  has  jest  crossed  the  Delaware 
in  a  tippy-canoe,  an'  that  Napoleon  discovered 
America,  but  I  doubt  it.  What  I  want  to  know  is 
whether  supper  is  ready  or  not." 

"No,  it  isn't,"  Mrs.  Porter  made  haste  to  inform 
him,  "but  it  will  be  in  a  few  minutes.  The  table's 
set  an'  all  is  ready,  except  the  bread  isn't  quite  done. 
Now,  what  have  you  heard  in  town?" 

229 


Pole    Baker 

"A  body  kin  hear  a  lots,"  Porter  drawled  out. 
"The  trouble  is  to  keep  from  listenin'  to  so  much. 
People  are  standin'  as  thick  about  Mayhew  & 
Floyd's  shebang  as  flies  over  a  fresh"  ginger-cake. 
You  two  are  the  only  women  in  the  county  that 
hain't  been  thar,  an'  I'm  proud  of  the  distinction. 
Old  Mrs.  Snodgrass  mighty  nigh  had  a  fisticuff  fight 
to  retain  her  corner  in  the  store,  whar  she's  had  'er 
distributin'  -  office  fer  the  last  week.  Joe  Peters 
needed  the  space.  He  tried  to  put  a  coop  o'  chickens 
thar,  but  you  bet  the  chickens  had  to  go  some'rs  else. 
Mrs.  Snod'  said  she  was  gittin'  hard  o'  hearin', 
an'  ef  she  wasn't  right  thar  in  the  front  she  wouldn't 
git  a  thing  till  it  was  second-handed." 

"  Oh,  I  get  out  of  all  patience  with  you,"  cried  Mrs. 
Porter.  "  Why  does  it  take  you  so  long  to  get  to  a 
point?" 

"  The  truth  is,  thar  ain't  any  rale  developments  as 
I  kin  see,"  Porter  gave  in,  reluctantly.  "Old  May- 
hew,  though,  is  back  from  Atlanta.  He  sets  thar, 
as  yaller  as  a  pumpkin,  without  much  to  say.  He's 
got  a  rope  tied  to  every  nickel  he  owns,  an'  he  sees 
absolute  ruin  ahead  o'  the  firm.  He's  depended 
on  Nelson  Floyd's  popularity  an'  brains  to  keep 
things  a-goin'  so  long  that  now  he's  like  a  loaded 
wagon  runnin'  downhill  without  a  tongue,  swingle- 
tree,  or  hold-back  strop.  You  see,  ef  Nelson  Floyd 
is  dead,  or  put  out  o'  the  way — accordin'  to  Mrs. 
Snodgrass,  who  heard  a  Darley  lawyer  say  it — why 
the  young  man's  intrust  in  the  business  will  slide 
over  to  his  new  kin — a  receiver  will  have  to  be  ap 
pointed  an'  .Mayhew  closed  up.  Mrs.  Snod'  is 
authority  fer  the  statement  that  Floyd's  uncle  has 

230 


Pole    Baker 

connived  agin  the  boy  to  git  his  pile,  an'  bliffed  'im 
in  the  head  with  a  sock  full  o'  sand  or  some'n'  equally 
as  deadly.  I  dunno.  I  never  knowed  her  to  be 
right  about  anything,  an'  I  hain't  a-goin'  to  believe 
Floyd's  dead  till  the  report  comes  from  some  other 
direction.  But  this  much  seems  to  have  foundation 
in  fact:  Mayhew  did  go  down;  he  did  make  in 
quiries  of  the  police;  an'  some  say — now,  mind  you, 
I  hain't  a-standin'  fer  this — some  say  he  paid  out 
solid  coin  to  git  expert  detectives  a-holt  o'  the  matter. 
They  say  the  detectives  run  across  a  low-class  hotel 
out  in  the  edge  o'  town  whar  a  feller  answerin' 
Floyd's  description  had  come  in  the  night  after  the 
boy  left  here  an'  axed  fer  a  room.  They  say  he 
was  lookin'  awful — like  he  had  been  on  a  big  jag,  an' 
when  they  give  'im  the  pen  to  register  he  studied 
a  minute  an'  then  thro  wed  it  at  the  clerk,  an'  told 
'im  he  didn't  have  no  name  to  sign,  an'  turned  an' 
stalked  out.  That  was  the  last  seed  of  'im." 

"An'  that's  all  you  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  in 
disgust. 

"  All  but  one  thing  more, "  Porter  replied.  "  Folks 
about  here  that  has  missed  Pole  Baker  fer  the  last 
three  days  'lowed  he  was  off  on  another  bender,  but 
he  was  down  thar  in  Atlanta  nosin'  around  try  in' 
to  find  Floyd.  Old  Mayhew  paid  his  expenses.  He 
said  Pole  had  a  longer  head  on  'im  than  any  detective 
in  the  bunch.  Pole  got  back  about  two  hours  ago, 
but  what  he  discovered  not  even  Mrs.  Snod'  knows. 
Him  an'  Mayhew  had  the'r  heads  clamped  together 
in  the  rear  end  o'  the  store  fer  an  hour,  but  Joe 
Peters  helt  the  crowd  back,  an'  thar  it  stands." 

"  Pig-oop-pig-oo !  Pig-oop-pig-oo!"  The  mellow, 
231 


Pole     Baker 

resonant  sound  floated  to  them  on  the  still  air.  Por 
ter  smiled. 

"That's  Pole  now  callin'  his  hogs,"  he  said, 
laconically.  "  The  blamed  fool  told  me  t'other  day 
he  was  goin'  to  fatten  them  pigs  on  buttermilk,  but 
that  sort  o'  fat  won't  stick  any  more  'n  whiskey  bloat 
on  a  reformed  drunkard.  By  the  time  he  drives 
'em  to  market  they'll  look  as  flabby  as  a  ripe 
tomato  with  the  inside  squashed  out.  Speakin'  o' 
hogs,  I  want  you-uns  to  fry  me  a  piece  o'  that  shuck- 
sausage  on  the  top  shelf  in  the  smoke-house.  You'd 
better  go  git  it  now.  Swallowin'  all  that  gush  in 
town  has  made  me  want  some'n'  solid." 

When  her  mother  and  father  had  gone  into  the 
house  Cynthia  hastened  across  the  fields  through 
the  gathering  dusk  in  the  direction  of  Pole  Baker's 
voice.  He  would  tell  her,  she  was  sure,  if  anything 
of  importance  had  turned  up  concerning  Floyd,  and 
she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  another  night  of 
suspense. 

Presently,  through  the  dusk,  she  saw  Pole  at  his 
hog-pen  in  the  edge  of  a  little  thicket  behind  his 
cottage. 

"Pig-oop-pig-oo!"  she  heard  him  calling.  "Bern 
yore  lazy  hides,  ef  you  don't  come  on  I'll  empty  this 
bucket  o'  slop  on  the  ground  an'  you  kin  root  fer  it. 
I've  mighty  nigh  ripped  the  linin'  out  o'  my  throat 
on  yore  account."  Then  he  descried  Cynthia 
coming  towards  him  over  the  dew-damp  grass  and 
he  paused,  leaning  on  the  rail-fence,  his  eyes  resting 
expectantly  on  her. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  little  sister!"  he  exclaimed,  pleas 
antly.  "That's  sorter  foolish  o'  you  gittin'  them 

232 


Pole     Baker 

little  feet  o'  yore'n  wet  in  this  dew.  It  may  settle 
on  yore  lungs  an'  keep  you  from  j'inin'  in  the 
singin'  Sunday." 

"  I  want  to  see  you,"  Cynthia  said,  in  a  voice  that 
shook.  "  I  heard  you  calling  your  hogs,  and 
thought  I'd  catch  you  here." 

"Well,  little  sister,  I  hain't  very  nice-lookin'  in 
this  old  shirt  an'  pants  of  many  colors,  like  Joseph's 
coat,  but  every  patch  was  sewed  on  by  the  ringers  o' 
the  sweetest,  most  patient  little  woman  God  ever 
made,  an'  I  hain't  ashamed  of  'em;  but  she  is — 
God  bless  'er! — an'  she'd  have  a  spasm  ef  she  knowed 
I  talked  to  you  in  'em." 

"My  father  says  you  went  down  to  Atlanta," 
Cynthia  said,  falteringly,  "and  I  thought — " 

"Yes,  I  went  down."  Pole  avoided  her  fixed 
stare. 

"You  went  to  see  if  you  could  learn  anything  of 
Mr.  Floyd's  whereabouts,  didn't  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  did,  little  sister.  I  hain't  a-talkin'  much. 
May  hew  says  it's  best  to  sorter  lie  low  until  some'n' 
accurate  is  found  out,  an'  while  I  did  my  level  best 
down  thar,  I've  got  to  acknowledge  I'm  as  much  in 
the  dark  as  anybody  else.  In  fact,  I'm  mighty  nigh 
bothered  to  death  over  it.  Nelson,  poor  boy,  seems 
to  have  disappeared  clean  off'n  the  face  o'  the  earth. 
The  only  thing  I  have  to  build  on  is  the  fact  that — 
an'  I  hate  to  say  it,  little  sister — the  fact  that  he 
evidently  did  start  to  drinkin'  again.  He  told  me 
once  that  he  wasn't  plumb  sure  o'  hisse'f,  an'  that 
any  big  trouble  or  despair  might  overthrow  his 
resolutions.  Now,  he's  been  drinkin',  I  reckon — an' 
what  could  'a'  been  his  trouble  ?  I  went  three  times 

233 


Pole    Baker 

to  his  uncle's,  but  the  doctors  wouldn't  let  me  see 
'im.  The  old  man's  broke  down  with  nervous 
prostration  from  business  troubles,  an'  they  are 
afeard  he's  goin'  to  kick  the  bucket.  Comin'  back 
on  the  cars — " 

Pole's  voice  died  away.  He  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  his  hands  on  the  fence.  He  avoided  her 
steady  stare.  His  massive  eyebrows  met  on  his 
wrinkled  forehead.  It  was  as  if  he  were  suffering 
inward  pain.  "  I  say — as  I  set  in  the  train  on  the 
way  back  tryin'  an'  tryin'  to  find  some  explanation, 
the  idea  come  to  me  that  —  since  trouble  was  evi 
dently  what  upset  Nelson — that  maybe  you  mought 
be  able  to  throw  some  light  on  it." 

" Me,  Mr.  Baker?" 

Pole  hung  his  head;  he  spat  slowly.  Was  she 
mistaken,  or  had  he  actually  turned  pale?  Was  it 
that,  or  a  trick  of  her  vision  in  the  vague  starlight  ? 

"Little  sister,"  he  said,  huskily,  "you  could  trust 
me  with  yore  life.  I'd  die  rather  than  —  than 
not  stand  to  you  in  anything  on  earth.  You  see, 
if  you  happened  to  know  any  reason  why  Nelson 
Floyd — "  Pole  was  interrupted  by  the  loud  grunting 
and  squealing  of  his  drove  of  hogs  as  they  rushed 
round  the  fence-corner  towards  him.  "Wait,"  he 
said — "wait  till  I  pour  the'r  feed  in  the  trough." 

He  took  up  the  pail  and  disappeared  for  a  moment 
behind  the  cow-house. 

Cynthia  felt  a  great  lump  of  wondering  suspense 
in  her  throat.  What  could  he  mean?  What  was 
coming?  She  had  never  seen  Pole  act  so  strangely 
before.  Presently  he  came  back  to  her,  holding 
the  dripping  paddle  with  which  he  had  stirred  the 

234 


Pole     Baker 

dregs  in  the  bottom  of  his  slop-bucket.  He  leaned 
over  the  fence  again. 

"You  see,  it's  this  away,  little  sister,"  he  began, 
lamely.  "You  an'  Nelson — that  is,  you  an'  him 
was  sorter  runnin'  together.  He  went  with  you,  I 
reckon,  more,  on  the  whole,  than  with  any  other 
young  lady  in  this  section,  an',  you  see,  ef  any 
body  was  in  a  position  to  know  any  particular 
trouble  or  worry  he  had,  you  mought  be  that 
one." 

"  But  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  anything  of  the 
kind,"  she  said,  wonderingly,  her  frank  eyes  resting 
blankly  on  his  face. 

"I  see  you  don't  understand  me,"  he  went  on. 
"The  God's  truth  is  that  I  hain't  no  hand  to  talk 
about  delicate  matters  to  a  young  gal,  an'  you  above 
all,  but  I  want  to  know — I  want  some'n'  to  build  on. 
I  don't  know  how  to  put  what  I  want  to  ax.  Maybe 
I'm  away — away  off,  an'  will  want  to  kill  myse'f  fer 
even  dreamin'  that — but — well,  maybe  you'll  git 
at  what  I  mean  from  this.  You  see,  I  run  in  the 
room  on  you  an'  my  wife  not  long  ago  an'  ketched 
Sally  an'  you  a-cryin'  over  some'n'  or  other  you'd 
confided  to  'er,  an'  then  other  things  of  a  like  nature 
has  crapped  up  lately,  an'— 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Baker,"  said  Cynthia, 
anxiously,  when  she  saw  he  was  going  no  further. 
"  I  really  don't.  But  I  assure  you,  I'm  ready  to  tell 
you  anything." 

"Ah!     Are  you?     Well,   I   started  to  say  Sally 

don't  cry  over  other  folks'  matters  unless  they  are 

purty  sad,  an'  you  know  at  the  time  you  refused  to 

tell  me  what  yore  trouble  was.     Maybe  you  ain't 

16  235 


Pole     Baker 

ready  yet,  little  sister.  But  could  you  tell  me, 
right  out  plain,  what  ailed  you  that  day?" 

Cynthia  stared  and  then  dropped  her  glance  to  the 
ground. 

"I  don't  see  that  it  would  help  in  the  matter," 
she  said,  awkwardly. 

"Well,  maybe  it  wouldn't,"  he  declared,  in  de 
spair;  "an'  I  reckon  thar  are  things  one  woman 
would  tell  another  woman  that  she  wouldn't  speak 
of  to  a  man." 

"I  guess  that's  so,"  said  Cynthia,  still  perplexed 
over  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken  and  yet 
firm  in  her  determination  to  say  nothing  that  would 
involve  Mrs.  Baker's  secret. 

"Well,  maybe  you  won't  mind  it  much  ef  I  put 
it  this  away,"  Pole  continued.  "Now,  remember, 
you  don't  have  to  say  yes  or  no  unless  you  want  to. 
Little  sister,  I'll  put  it  this  away:  ef  Nelson  Floyd 
was  to  never  come  back  here  again,  could  you,  as — 
as  a  good,  true  woman — could  you  conscientiously 
marry  another  man?  Could  you  with  a  clear  con 
science,  I  mean,  before  God,  ever  marry  another 
man?  Thar,  it's  out!  Could  you?" 

Cynthia  started.  She  looked  down.  She  was 
silent.  Her  color  rose. 

"Now,  mind,"  Pole  said,  suddenly,  "you  don't 
have  to  answer  unless  you  want  to.  No  man's  got  a 
right  to  hem  a  weak,  excited  woman  up  in  a  corner 
and  get  at  her  heart's  secrets." 

"Would  it  do  any  good  for  you  to  know  that, 
Mr.  Baker?"  the  girl  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  think  so,  little  sister." 

"Well,  then"  —  she  turned  her  face  away  —  "I 
236 


Pole     Baker 

don't  think  I'd  ever  want  to  marry  any  other  living 
man." 

"Oh,  my  God!"  Pole  averted  his  face,  but  not 
before  she  had  seen  its  writhing  torture.  She  stared 
at  him  in  astonishment,  and,  to  avoid  her  eyes,  he 
lowered  his  head  to  his  arms,  which  were  folded  on 
the  top  rail  of  the  fence.  Fully  a  minute  passed; 
still  he  did  not  look  up.  She  saw  his  broad  shoulders 
rising  and  falling  as  if  he  were  trying  to  subdue  a 
torrent  of  emotion.  She  laid  her  hand  firmly  on  his 
arm. 

"Tell  me  what  you  mean,"  she  suddenly  de 
manded.  "I  want  to  know.  This  has  gone  far 
enough.  What  do  you  mean?" 

He  raised  a  pair  of  great,  blearing  eyes  to  hers. 
He  started  to  speak,  but  his  voice  hung  in  his  throat. 
Tightening  her  clasp  on  his  arm  she  repeated  her 
demand. 

"I  see  through  it  now,"  he  found  voice  to  say, 
huskily.  "  I  don't  mean  to  say  Nelson  Floyd  is 
afeard  o'  man,  beast,  nor  devil  when  it  comes  to  a 
just  encounter,  but  he  knows  now  that  ef  me  an' 
him  was  to  come  face  to  face  one  of  us  ud  have  to  die, 
an'  he's  man  enough  not  to  want  to  kill  me  in  sech 
a  cause.  I  gave  'im  due  warnin'.  I  told  'im  the 
day  he  drove  you  to  bush-arbor  meetin'  that  ef  he 
tuck  advantage  o'  you  I'd  kill  'im  as  shore  as  God 
give  me  the  strength.  I  knowed  whar  that  stormy 
night  was  spent,  but  I  refused  to  believe  the  wust. 
I  give  'im  the  benefit  o'  that  doubt,  but  now  since 
you  tell  me  with  your  own  lips  that — 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!"  The  cry  burst  from  her  lips  as 
if  she  were  in  sudden  pain.  "  I  don't  mean  that. 

237 


Pole     Baker 

Why,    I'm   a   good   girl,   Mr.   Baker!     I'm    a  good 
girl!" 

Pole  leaned  over  the  fence  and  laid  his  big,  quiv 
ering  hands  on  her  shoulders.  "Thank  God!"  he 
gulped,  his  eyes  flashing  with  joy.  "Then  I've  still 
got  my  little  sister  an'  I've  got  my  friend.  Thank 
God!  thank  God!" 

Cynthia  stood  for  a  moment  with  hanging  head, 
and  then  with  a  deep  sigh  she  turned  to  go  away. 
He  climbed  over  the  fence  and  caught  up  with  her, 
the  light  of  a  new  fear  now  in  his  eyes,  its  fire  in  his 
quickened  pulse. 

"  I  see  you  ain't  never  goin'  to  forgive  me  in 
the  world  fer  sayin'  what  I  did,"  he  said,  humbly; 
"but  God  knows  I  wasn't  thinkin'  wrong  o'  you. 
It  was  him,  damn  'im! — his  hot-blooded  natur',  an' 
a  lots  o'  circumstances  that  p'inted  jest  one  way. 
I  ain't  more  'n  human,  little  sister,  an'  through  that 
I've  offended  you  beyond  forgiveness." 

"A  woman  learns  to  bear  a  great  many  things," 
Cynthia  said.  "My  mother  and  others  have  hard 
ened  me  so  that  I  scarcely  feel  what  you  said  as  any 
other  pure-minded  woman  might.  Then — then- 
She  faced  him  squarely,  and  her  voice  rang  out 
sharply.  "We  don't  know  —  you  don't  —  I  don't 
know  whether  he  is  alive  or —  Her  words  failed 
her,  a  sob,  dry  and  deep,  shook  her  from  head  to 
foot.  "  Don't  curse  him  as  you  did  just  now,  Mr. 
Baker;  you  may  be  cursing  a  dead  man  who,  him 
self,  was  only  human.  But  I  know  what  he  was — 
I  saw  his  real  and  higher  nature,  and,  as  it  strug 
gled  for  growth  in  good  and  bad  soil,  it  was  the 
most  beautiful  flower  God  ever  made.  He  can't  be 

238 


Pole    Baker 

dead — he  must  not  be  dead.  I — I  could  not  bear 
that.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Call  me  what  you  will  for 
my  imprudent  conduct  with  him,  but  don't  admit 
that  bare  possibility  for  one  instant — even  in  your 
thoughts.  Don't  do  it,  I  say!" 

Pole  gulped  down  his  tense  emotion.  "I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do,  little  sister,"  he  proposed. 
"  Promise  me  you'll  overlook  what  I  said  just  now, 
an'  I'll  work  these  here  hands  "-—he  held  them  up  in 
the  starlight — "to  the  naked  bone;  I'll  use  this  here 
brain  "  — he  struck  his  broad  brow  with  a  resounding 
slap — "till  it  withers  in  the  endeavor  to  fetch  'im 
back  safe  an'  sound,  ef  you'll  jest  forgive  me." 

"Forgive  you!"  She  laughed  harshly  and  tossed 
her  head.  "  That's  already  done.  More  than  that,  I 
want  to  tell  you  that  I've  always  looked  on  you  as  a 
brother.  You  made  me  love  you  a  long  time  ago 
by  your  gentleness  and  respect  for  women." 

"Oh,  little  sister,"  Pole  cried,  "I  don't  deserve 
that!" 

"  Yes,  you  do ;  but  find  him — find  him,  and  bring 
him  back." 

"All  right,  little  sister;  I'll  do  my  best." 

He  stood  still  and  watched  her  hurry  away 
through  the  darkness. 

"Poor  little  trick,"  he  sighed.  "I  was  countin' 
on  that  one  thing  to  explain  Nelson's  absence. 
Since  it  ain't  that,  what  the  hell  is  it,  unless  he's 
been  sandbagged  down  thar  in  Atlanta  an'  put 
out  o'  the  way?" 


XXVIII 

[T  was  quite  dark  when  Pole  went  into 
the  cottage.  There  was  a  fire  in  the 
little  sitting-room,  and  by  its  light  he 
could  see  his  wife  through  the  open 
door  of  the  next  room  as  she  quietly 
moved  about.  He  paused  in  the  door-way  and  whis 
pered  : 

"Are  the  childern  asleep,  Sally?" 
"Yes,  an'  tucked  away."  She  came  to  him  with 
a  cautious  step,  and  looked  up  into  his  face  trusting 
ly.  "Little  Billy  kept  askin'  fer  papa,  papa,  papa! 
He  said  he  jest  wasn't  goin'  to  sleep  anywhar  except 
in  his  own  place  in  yore  lap." 

Pole  went  to  the  children's  bed,  looked  down  at 
the  row  of  yellow  heads  for  a  moment,  then  suddenly 
bent  and  took  the  eldest  boy  into  his  arms. 

"You  goose!"  Mrs.  Baker  exclaimed.  "  I'm  sorry 
I  said  what  I  did.  You'll  spile  'im  to  death. 
Thar,  I  knowed  he'd  wake  up!  It's  jest  what  you 
wanted." 

"Did  you  want  yore  papa?"  Pole  said,  in  cooing 
tones  of  endearment.  "  Well,  Billy-boy,  papa's  got 
you,  an'  he  ain't  a-goin'  to  let  no  booger  git  you, 
nuther.  Thar  now,  go  back  to  sleep."  And  in  a 
big  arm-chair  before  the  fire  Pole  sat  and  rocked 
back  and  forth  with  the  child's  head  on  his  shoulder. 

240 


Pole     Baker 

"Whar've  you  been,  papa?"  Billy  asked,  sliding 
his  arm  around  Pole's  rough,  sunbrowned  neck  and 
pressing  his  face  to  his  father's. 

"To  feed  the  hogs,  Billy-boy." 

"  But  you  never  took  so  long  before,"  argued  the 
child. 

"  I  had  to  watch  'em  eat,  Billy-boy — eat,  eat,  eat, 
Billy-boy!  They  hadn't  had  anything  since  morn- 
in'  except  roots,  an'  snags,  an'  pusley  weeds,  an' 
it  was  a  purty  sight  to  watch  'em  stick  the'r  snouts 
in  that  slop.  Now,  go  to  sleep.  Here  we  go — here 
we  go — across  the  bridge  to  Drowsy  Town." 

In  a  moment  the  child  was  sleeping  soundly  and 
Pole  bore  him  tenderly  back  to  bed.  As  he  straight 
ened  up  in  the  darkened  room  his  wife  was  beside 
him. 

"I  declare  you  are  a  good  man,"  she  said — "the 
best-hearted,  tenderest  man  in  the  world,  Pole 
Baker!" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily  for  an  instant,  then  he 
said: 

"  Sally,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  special  favor." 

"  What  is  it,  Pole  ?"    Her  voice  was  full  of  wonder. 

"Sally,  now  don't  laugh  at  me,  but  I  want  you 
to  go  put  on  a  piece  o'  red  ribbon,  an'  let  yore  hair 
hang  down  yore  back  loose  like  you  used  to.  Fix 
it  that  away  an'  then  come  in  to  the  fire." 

"Pole,  yo're  foolish!"  Mrs.  Baker  was  really 
pleased,  and  yet  she  saw  no  reason  for  his  whim. 

"  You  do  as  I  ax  you,  an'  don't  be  long  about  it, 
nuther." 

He  turned  back  into  the  firelight,  and,  watching 
him  cautiously  from  the  adjoining  room,  Mrs. 

241 


Pole     Baker 

Baker  saw  him  straightening  out  his  shirt  and 
brushing  his  coarse  hair.  Then,  to  her  further 
surprise,  she  saw  him  take  down  his  best  coat  from 
its  peg  on  the  wall  and  put  it  on.  This  was  followed 
by  a  dusting  of  his  rough  shoes  with  a  soiled,  red 
handkerchief.  In  great  wonder,  Sally,  with  her 
hair  loose  on  her  shoulders,  looked  into  the  room. 

"  You  ain't  in  earnest  about  that — that  red  ribbon, 
are  you,  Pole?"  she  faltered. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  he  answered,  without  lifting  his 
eyes  from  the  fire.  "I  mean  exactly  what  I  say." 

"All  right,  then,  I'll  do  it,  but  I  don't  see  a  bit  o' 
sense  in  it,"  she  retorted.  "  It's  about  our  bedtime, 
an'  I  know  in  reason  that  we  ain't  a-goin'  nowhar 
at  this  time  o'  night  an'  leave  the  childern  by  the'r- 
selves." 

Still  Pole  did  not  look  up. 

"  You  go  an'  do  as  I  tell  you,"  he  repeated,  a  flush 
of  growing  embarrassment  on  his  face. 

Presently  Mrs.  Baker  came  in,  even  redder  and 
more  confused  than  he. 

"Pole,  what  in  the  name  o'  common-sense — " 

But  he  was  gallantly  placing  a  chair  for  her  in  front 
of  the  fire  near  his  own.  "Take  a  seat,"  he  said, 
bowing  and  motioning  downward  with  his  hands. 
"  When  you  stood  in  the  door  jest  then,  lookin'  fer 
all  the  world  like  you  did  away  back  in  our  courtin'- 
day,  I  come  as  nigh  as  peas  callin'  you  'Miss  Sally.' 
Gee  whiz!  It's  Mrs.  Baker  now  —  ain't  it?  How 
quar  that  sounds  when  a  body  looks  back!" 

"Pole,"  she  asked,  as  she  sat  down  wonderingly, 
"are  you  goin'  some'rs  at  this  time  o'  night?" 

"No,  it  ain't  that,"  he  said,  awkwardly  —  "it 
242 


Pole     Baker 

ain't  that,  Sally.  It  ain't  meetin',  nor  singin'- 
school,  nor  a  moonlight  buggy-ride.  'Tain't  none  o' 
them  old,  old  things."  Pole  crossed  his  long  legs 
and  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "  I  know  in  reason 
that  you  are  a-goin'  to  laugh  at  me,  an'  say  I'm  plumb 
crazy,  but  it's  this  away,  Sally:  some'n's  jest  hap 
pened  that's  set  me  to  thinkin',  an'  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  wasn't  half  thankful  enough  to  the 
Almighty  fer  all  His  many  blessin's,  an' — " 

"Pole  "—Mrs.  Baker  was  misled  as  to  his  meaning 
—"somebody's  been  talkin'  religion  to  you.  You 
want  to  begin  holdin'  family  prayer  ag'in,  I  reckon. 
Now,  looky'  here,  ef  you  do,  I  want  you  to  keep  it 
up.  I  feel  wuss  ever'time  you  start  in  an'  break 
off." 

"Tain't  that,  nuther,"  Pole  said,  eying  the  red 
chunks  under  the  fire-logs.  "Sally,  thar  ortn't  to 
be  no  secret  betwixt  man  an'  wife.  I  had  a  talk 
with  Cynthia  Porter  out  at  the  hog-pen  jest  now 
about  Nelson  Floyd,  an'  the  way  she  talked  an' 
acted  worked  on  me  powerful.  Seein'  the  way  she 
feels  about  her  sweetheart  started  me  to  thinkin' 
how  awful  I'd  feel  without  you.  An'  with  that 
come  the  feelin'  that,  somehow — somehow  or  other, 
Sally — me  'n'  you  ain't  jest  pine-blank  the  way  we 
used  to  be,  an'  I  believe  thar's  a  screw  loose.  I'd 
liter'ly  die  ef  I  didn't  have  you,  an'  I've  been  spittin' 
in  the  face  o'  Providence  by  the  careless  way  I've 
been  actin'.  Now,  Sally,  I  want  you  jest  to  set 
right  thar,  an'  let's  forget  about  them  towheads  in 
the  next  room,  an'  try  an'  forget  all  I've  made  you 
suffer  fust  an'  last,  an'  let's  git  back — let's  git  back, 
Sally,  to  the  old  sweetheart  -  time.  I  know  I'm 

243 


Pole    Baker 

tough,  an'  a  sorry  cuss  before  God  an'  man,  but  I've 
got  the  same  heart  a-beatin'  in  me  to-night  that  was 
in  me  away  back  on  Holly  Creek.  In  this  firelight 
you  look  as  plump  an'  rosy  an'  bright-eyed  as  you 
did  then,  an'  with  that  red  ribbon  at  yore  neck,  an' 
yore  hair  down  yore  back,  I  feel — well,  I  feel  like 
gittin'  down  on  my  knees  an'  beggin'  you,  like  I  did 
that  time,  not  to  take  Jim  Felton,  but  to  give  me  a 
showin'.  I  wonder  " — Pole's  voice  broke,  and  he 
covered  his  mouth  impulsively  with  his  hand — "  I 
wonder  ef  it's  too  late  to  ax  you  to  give  me  a  chance 
to  prove  myself  a  good  husband  an'  a  father  to  them 
thar  childern." 

"Oh,  Pole,  stop!"  Mrs.  Baker  cried  out,  as  if  in 
pain.  "  I  won't  let  you  set  thar  an'  run  yorese'f 
down,  when  you  are  the  best-hearted  man  in  this 
state.  What  is  a  little  spree  now  an'  then  com 
pared  to  the  lot  o'  some  pore  women  that  git  kicked 
an'  cuffed,  with  never  a  tender  word  from  the'r 
husbands.  Pole,  as  the  Lord  is  my  judge,  I  kin 
honestly  say  that  I — I  almost  want  you  jest  like  you 
are.  Some  men  don't  drink,  but  they  hain't  got 
yore  heart  an'  gentle  way,  an'  ef  I  had  to  take  my 
choice  over  an'  over  ag'in,  I'd  choose  a  man  like 
you  every  time." 

She  rose  suddenly,  and  with  a  face  full  of  pent- 
up  emotion  she  left  the  room.  She  returned  in  a 
moment. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  the  baby  wakin',"  she  said. 

He  caught  her  hand  and  pulled  her  gently  down 
into  her  chair.  "  Yo're  a  liar,  Sally,"  he  said,  huskily. 
"You  know  yo're  a-lyin'.  You  went  out  to  wipe 
yore  eyes.  You  didn't  want  me  to  see  you  cry." 

244 


Pole     Baker 

She  made  no  denial,  and  he  put  his  rough  hand, 
with  a  reverent  touch,  on  her  hair. 

"It  ain't  quite  as  heavy  as  it  was,"  he  said. 
"Nor  so  fluffy.  I  reckon  that's  beca'se  you  keep 
it  bound  up  so  tight.  When  I  fust  tuck  a  shine 
to  you,  you  used  to  run  about  them  old  hills  as  wild 
as  a  deer,  an'  the  wind  kept  it  tousled.  Do  you 
remember  the  day  it  got  full  o'  cockleburs  an'  I 
tried  to  git  'em  out  ?  La  me!  I  was  all  of  a  tremble. 
The  Lord  knows  I  never  thought  then  that  sech  a 
sweet,  scared,  rosy  little  thing  ud  ever  keep  house 
fer  me  an'  cook  my  grub  an'  be  a  mother  to  my 
childern.  I  never  dreamt,  then,  that  instead  o' 
bein'  grateful  fer  the  blessin',  I'd  go  off  weeks  at  a 
time  an'  lie  in  a  gutter,  leavin'  you  to  walk  the 
floor  in  agony — sometimes  with  a  nursin'  baby  an' 
not  a  scrap  to  eat.  No,  I  never — 

"Hush,  Pole!"  With  a  sob,  half  of  joy,  half  of 
sadness,  Mrs.  Baker  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth 
and  pressed  her  face  against  his.  "  Hush,  hush, 
hush!" 

"  But,  thank  God,  I  hope  that  day  is  over,"  he 
said,  taking  her  hand  from  his  lips.  "  I've  passed 
through  a  great  crisis,  Sally.  Some'n'  you  don't 
know  about — some'n'  you  may  never  know  about— 
that  happened  right  here  in  these  mountains,  but 
it  may  prove  to  be  my  turnin'-p'int." 

His  wife  looked  uneasily  at  the  fire.  "  It's  gittin' 
late,  Pole,"  she  said.  "We'd  better  go  to  bed." 


XXIX 

I  HE  following  evening  was  balmy  and 
moonlit.  Hillhouse  was  at  Porter's 
just  after  supper,  seated  on  the  porch 
in  conversation  with  Mrs.  Porter. 

"Yes,  I  believe  I'd  not  ask  her  to 
see  you  to-night,"  she  was  advising  him.  "The 
poor  girl  seems  completely  fagged  out.  She  tries 
to  do  as  much  about  the  house  as  usual,  but  it  seems 
to  tire  her  more.  Then  she  doesn't  eat  heartily,  and 
I  hear  her  constantly  sighing." 

"Ah,  I  see,"  Hillhouse  said,  despondently. 
"Yes,"  the  old  woman  pursued,  "I  suppose  if 
you  finally  get  her  to  marry  you,  you'll  have  to  put 
up  with  the  memory  that  she  did  have  a  young 
girl's  fancy  for  that  man,  Brother  Hillhouse.  But 
she  wasn't  the  only  one.  The  girls  all  liked  him, 
and  he  did  show  a  preference  for  her." 

"  Has  she — has  she  heard  the  latest  news — the 
very  latest?"  Hillhouse  asked,  anxiously.  "Has 
she  heard  the  report  that  Henry  A.  Floyd  told  Mr. 
Mayhew  he  had  met  Nelson  and  revealed  that  awful 
news  about  his  parentage?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  Mrs.  Snodgrass  came  in  with  that  report 
this  morning.  She  knew  as  well  as  anything  that 
Cynthia  was  excited,  and  yet  she  sat  in  the  parlor 
and  went  over  and  over  the  worst  parts  of  it, 

246 


Pole     Baker 

watching  the  girl  like  a  hawk.  Cynthia  got  up  and 
left  the  room.  She  was  white  as  death  and  looked 
like  she  would  faint.  Mrs.  Snodgrass  hinted  at 
deliberate  suicide.  She  declared  a  young  man  as 
proud  and  high-strung  as  Nelson  Floyd  would  resort 
to  that  the  first  thing.  She  said  she  wouldn't  blame 
him  one  bit  after  all  he's  suffered.  Well,  just  think 
of  it,  Brother  Hillhouse!  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any 
body  being  treated  worse?  He's  been  tossed  and 
kicked  about  all  his  life,  constantly  afraid  that  he 
wasn't  quite  as  respectable  as  other  folks.  And 
then  all  at  once  he  was  taken  up  and  congratulated 
by  the  wealth  and  blood  around  him  on  his  high 
stand — and  then  finally  had  to  have  this  last  dis 
covery  rammed  in  his  face.  Why,  that's  enough 
to  drive  any  proud  spirit  to  desperation!  I  don't 
blame  him  for  getting  drunk.  I  don't  blame  him, 
either,  for  not  wanting  to  come  back  to  be  snubbed 
by  those  folks.  But  what  I  do  want  is  fer  him  not 
to  drag  me  and  mine  into  his  trouble.  When  my 
girl  marries,  I  want  her  to  marry  some  man  that 
will  be  good  to  her,  and  I  want  him  to  have  decent 
social  standing.  Even  if  Floyd's  alive,  if  I  can  help 
it,  Cynthia  shall  never  marry  him — never!" 

"Does  Miss  Cynthia  believe,"  ventured  the 
preacher,  "that  Floyd  has  killed  himself?" 

"  I  don't  think  she  believes  that,  quite  "  was  Mrs. 
Porter's  reply;  "but  she  doesn't  seem  to  think  he'll 
ever  come  back  to  Springtown.  Don't  you  worry, 
Brother  Hillhouse.  She'll  get  over  this  shock  after 
a  while,  and  then  she'll  appreciate  your  worth  and 
constancy.  If  I  were  you,  I'd  not  press  my  claim 
right  now." 

247 


Pole    Baker 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  think  of  such  a  thing!"  Hillhouse 
stroked  a  sort  of  glowing  resignation  into  his  chin, 
upon  which  a  two-days  beard  had  made  a  ragged 
appearance.  "  I've  been  awfully  miserable,  Sister 
Porter,  but  this  talk  with  you  has  raised  my  hopes." 

Mrs.  Porter  rose  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Now,  you 
go  home  and  write  another  good  sermon  like  that 
last  one.  I  watched  Cynthia  out  of  the  corner  of  my 
eye  all  through  it.  That  idea  of  its  being  our  duty 
to  bear  our  burdens  cheerfully  —  no  matter  how 
heavy  they  are — seemed  to  do  her  a  lot  of  good." 

The  color  came  into  Hillhouse 's  thin  face,  and  his 
eyes  shone.  "The  sermon  I  have  in  mind  for  next 
Sunday  is  on  the  same  general  line,"  he  said.  "I'm 
glad  she  listened.  I  was  talking  straight  at  her, 
Sister  Porter.  I'm  not  ashamed  to  admit  it.  I've 
been  unable  to  think  of  anything  but  her  since — 
since  Floyd  disappeared." 

"You  are  a  good  man,  Brother  Hillhouse  " — Mrs. 
Porter  was  giving  him  her  hand — "and  somehow 
I  feel  like  you  will  get  all  you  want,  in  due  time, 
remember — in  due  time." 

"God  bless  you,  sister,"  Hillhouse  said,  earnestly, 
and,  pressing  the  old  woman's  hand,  he  turned  away. 


XXX 

[HEN  Cynthia  heard  the  gate  close  be 
hind  the  preacher,  and  from  the  win 
dow  of  her  room  had  seen  him  striding 
away,  she  put  a  shawl  over  her  shoul 
ders  and  started  out. 
"Where  on  earth  are  you  going?"  her  mother 
asked  from  the  end  of  the  porch,  where  she  stood 
among  the  honeysuckle  vines. 

"  I  want  to  run  across  to  Mrs.  Baker's,  just  a 
minute,"  Cynthia  said.  "I  won't  be  long.  I'll 
come  right  back." 

"I'd  think  you'd  be  afraid  to  do  that,"  her 
mother  protested,  "with  so  many  stray  negroes 
about.  Besides,  it's  the  Bakers'  bedtime.  Can't 
you  wait  till  to-morrow?" 

"  No,  I  want  to  walk,  anyway,"  said  Cynthia.  "  I 
feel  as  if  it  will  do  me  good.  I'm  not  afraid." 

"Well,  I  sha'n't  go  to  bed  till  you  come  back," 
Mrs.  Porter  gave  in. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  girl  was  at  the  back-yard 
fence  of  Pole  Baker's  cottage.  The  door  was  open 
wide,  and  in  the  firelight  Cynthia  saw  Mrs.  Baker 
bending  over  the  dining-room  table. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Baker!"  the  girl  called,  softly. 
"Who's  that?     Oh,  it's  you,  Cynthia!"  and  the 
older  woman  came  out  into  the  moonlight,  brushing 

249 


Pole    Baker 

her  white  apron  with  her  hand.  She  leaned  over 
the  fence.  "Won't  you  come  in?" 

"No,  I  promised  mother  I'd  be  right  back.  I 
thought  maybe  you  could  tell  me  if  Mr.  Baker  had 
heard  anything  yet." 

"I'm  sorry  to  say  he  hain't,"  replied  the  little 
woman,  sadly.  "Him  and  Mr.  Mayhew  has  been 
working  all  sorts  of  ways,  and  writing  constant 
letters  to  detectives  and  the  mayors  of  different 
cities,  but  everything  has  failed.  He  came  in  just 
now  looking  plumb  downhearted." 

Cynthia  took  a  deep  breath.  Her  lips  quivered 
as  if  she  had  started  to  speak  and  failed. 

"  But,  la  me!  I  haven't  give  up,"  Mrs.  Baker  said, 
in  a  tone  of  forced  lightness.  "He'll  come  home 
all  safe  and  sound  one  of  these  days,  Cynthia. 
I  have  an  idea  that  he's  just  mad  at  his  ill-luck 
all  round,  and,  right  now,  doesn't  care  what  folks 
about  here  think.  He'll  git  over  all  that  in  due 
time  and  come  back  and  face  his  trouble  like  other 
men  have  done.  It's  a  bitter  pill  fer  a  proud  young 
man  to  swallow,  but  a  body  kin  git  used  to  most  any 
thing  in  time." 

"I'm  afraid  he's  never  coming  home,"  Cynthia 
said,  in  rigid  calmness.  "  He  once  told  me  if  he  ever 
had  any  great  trouble  he  would  be  tempted  to  drink 
again.  Mr.  Baker  thinks  he's  been  drinking,  and 
in  that  condition  there  is  no  telling  what  has  hap 
pened  to  him." 

"  Well,  let  me  tell  you  some'n' — let  me  give  you  a 
piece  of  sound  advice,"  said  Mrs.  Baker.  "It's 
unaxed ;  but  I'm  a  sufferin'  woman,  an'  I'm  a-goin' 
to  advise  you  as  I  see  fit,  ef  you  never  speak  to  me 

250 


Pole    Baker 

ag'in.  Ef  whiskey  is  keepin'  Nelson  Floyd  away,  an' 
he  does  come  back  an'  wants  to  marry  you,  don't 
you  take  'im.  Tear  'im  from  yore  young  heart  'fore 
the  roots  o'  yore  love  git  too  big  an'  strong  to  pull 
out.  It  may  not  be  whiskey  that's  keepin'  'im 
away.  He  may  'a'  taken  a  dram  or  two  at  the 
start  an'  be  livin'  sober  somewhar  now;  or,  then 
ag'in,  as  you  say,  some'n'  may  'a'  happened  to  'im; 
but,  anyhow,  don't  you  resk  livin'  with  'im,  not  ef  he 
has  all  the  money  on  earth.  Money  won't  stick 
to  a  drinkin'  man  no  longer  than  the  effects  of  a 
dram,  an'  in  the  mind  of  sech  a  fellow  good  in 
tentions  don't  amount  to  no  more  than  a  swarm  o' 
insects  that  are  born  an'  die  in  a  day.  Of  course, 
some  men  do  reform.  I'm  prayin'  right  now  that 
the  awful  thing  that  happened  t'other  night  to  Pole 
will  be  his  turnin'-p'int,  but  I  dunno.  I'll  walk  on 
thin  ice  over  a  lake  o'  fire  till  I  kin  see  furder.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  Cynthia,  I  can't  stand  by  an'  see  an 
other  unsuspectin'  woman  start  in  on  the  road  I've 
travelled — no ,  siree ! ' ' 

"  I  think  you  are  exactly  right,"  Cynthia  said, 
under  her  breath,  and  then  she  sighed  deeply. 
"Well,  good-night.  I  must  go."  She  was  turning 
away,  when  Mrs.  Baker  called  to  her. 

"Stop,  Cynthia!"  she  said.  "You  ain't  mad  at 
me,  are  you?" 

"  Not  a  bit  in  the  world,"  Cynthia  answered.  "  In 
fact,  I'm  grateful  for  your  advice.  I  may  never 
have  a  choice  in  such  a  matter,  but  I  know  you 
mean  it  for  my  own  good." 

As  Cynthia  entered  the  gate  at  home,  her  mother 
rose  from  a  chair  on  the  porch.  "  Now  I  can  go  to 
17  251 


Pole    Baker 

bed,"  she  remarked.  "  I  have  been  awfully  uneasy, 
almost  expecting  to  hear  you  scream  out  from  that 
lonely  meadow." 

"There  was  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  mother,"  and 
Cynthia  passed  on  to  her  own  room.  She  closed 
the  door  and  lighted  her  lamp,  and  then  took  her 
Bible  from  the  top  drawer  of  her  bureau  and  sat 
down  at  her  table  and  began  to  read  it.  She  read 
chapter  after  chapter  mechanically,  her  despondent 
eyes  doing  work  which  never  reached  her  throbbing 
brain.  Presently  she  realized  this  and  closed  the 
book.  Rising,  she  went  to  her  window  and  looked 
across  the  grass-grown  triangle  to  her  mother's 
window.  It  was  dark.  All  the  other  windows 
were  so,  too.  The  house  was  wrapped  in  slumber. 
She  heard  the  clock  strike  nine.  Really  she  must  go 
to  bed,  and  yet  she  knew  she  would  not  sleep,  and 
the  thought  of  the  long,  conscious  hours  till  day 
break  caused  her  to  shudder. 

Perhaps  twenty  minutes  had  passed  since  the 
clock  struck,  when  a  sound  suddenly  fell  upon  her 
ears  that  thrilled  every  muscle  in  her  body.  It  was 
the  far-off  call  of  a  whippoorwill !  Was  it  the  cry 
of  the  real  bird  or  an  imitation  —  his  imitation? 
She  stood  like  a  thing  of  stone,  straining  her  ears 
for  its  repetition.  There!  There  it  was  again,  and 
nearer,  clearer,  more  appealing.  Ah,  no  creature 
of  mere  feathers  and  flesh  could  have  uttered  that 
tentative,  soulful  note!  It  was  Nelson  Floyd  alive! 
— alive  and  wanting  her — her  first  of  all!  Standing 
before  her  mirror,  she  tried  to  tie  up  her  hair,  which 
had  fallen  loose  upon  her  shoulders,  but  her  hands 
refused  to  do  their  office.  Without  a  second's  de- 

252 


Pole     Baker 

liberation  she  sprang  to  her  door,  opened  it,  and 
ran  on  to  the  outer  one.  Passing  through  this,  she 
glided  across  the  porch  and  softly  sped  over  the  grass 
in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  She  heard  it  again,  in 
startling  shrillness,  and  then,  in  the  clear  moonlight, 
she  saw  Floyd  standing  in  front  of  the  grape-arbor. 
As  she  drew  near  her  heart  stood  still  at  the  sight 
of  the  change  which  had  come  on  him.  It  lay  like 
the  tracing  of  Death's  pencil  on  his  brow,  in  his 
emaciated  features  and  loosely  fitting,  soiled,  and 
unpressed  clothing.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
yielded  herself  without  resistance  to  his  out-stretched 
arms.  With  no  effort  to  prevent  it,  she  allowed 
him  to  press  his  lips  to  hers.  Childlike,  and  as  if 
in  fear  of  losing  him  again,  she  slid  her  arm  round 
his  neck  and  drew  him  tightly  to  her.  Neither 
uttered  a  word.  Thus  they  remained  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  he  led  her  into  the  arbor  and 
they  sat  down  together,  his  arm  still  about  her 
body,  her  head  on  his  breast.  He  was  first  to 
speak. 

"  I  was  so  afraid  you'd  not  come,"  he  panted,  as  if 
he  had  been  walking  fast.  "  Have  you  heard  of  my 
trouble  ?"  he  went  on,  his  voice  sounding  strange  and 
altered. 

She  nodded  on  his  breast,  not  wanting  to  see  the 
pain  she  knew  was  mirrored  in  his  face. 

"Oh  no,  surely  you  haven't — that  is,  not — not 
what  I  learned  in  Atlanta  about  my — my  mother 
and  father?" 

Again  she  nodded,  pressing  her  brow  upward 
against  his  chin  in  a  mute  action  of  consolation  and 
sympathy. 

253 


Pole    Baker 

He  sighed.  "  I  didn't  think  anybody  knew  that," 
he  said.  "That  is,  anybody  up  here." 

"Mr.  Mayhew  went  down  and  saw  your  uncle," 
Cynthia  found  voice  to  say,  finally. 

"  Don't  call  him  my  uncle — he's  not  that,  except 
as  hell  gives  men  relatives.  But  I  don't  want  to 
speak  of  him.  The  memory  of  his  ashy  face,  glitter 
ing  eyes,  and  triumphant  tone  as  he  hurled  those 
facts  at  me  is  like  a  horrible  nightmare.  I'm  not 
here  to  deny  a  thing,  little  girl.  I  came  to  let  you 
see  me  just  as  I  am.  I  fell  very  low.  No  one 
knows  I'm  here.  I  passed  through  Darley  without 
meeting  a  soul  I  knew  and  walked  all  the  way  here, 
dodging  off  the  road  when  I  heard  the  sound  of 
hoofs  or  wheels.  I've  come  to  you,  Cynthia — only 
you.  You  are  the  only  one  out  of  this  part  of  my 
life  that  I  ever  want  to  see  again.  I  am  not  going 
to  hide  anything.  After  that  revelation  in  Atlanta 
I  sank  as  low  as  a  brute.  I  drank  and  lost  my  head. 
I  spent  several  days  in  New  Orleans  more  like  a 
demon  than  a  human  being  —  among  gamblers, 
thieves,  and  cutthroats.  Two  of  my  companions 
confessed  to  me  that  they  were  escaped  convicts  put 
in  for  murder.  I  went  on  to  Havana  and  came 
back  again  to  New  Orleans.  Yesterday  I  reached 
Atlanta.  I  learned  that  the  police  had  been  trying 
to  find  me,  and  hid  out.  Last  night,  Cynthia,  I  was 
drunk  again;  but  this  morning  I  woke  up  with 
a  longing  to  throw  it  all  off,  to  be  a  man  once  more, 
and  while  I  was  thinking  about  it  a  thought  came 
to  me  like  a  flash  of  light  from  heaven  thrown  clear 
across  the  black  waste  of  hell.  The  thought  came 
to  me  that,  although  I  am  a  nobody  (that  name 

254 


Pole    Baker 

has  never  passed  my  lips  since  I  learned  it  was  not 
my  own) — the  thought  came  to  me,  I  say,  that  there 
was  one  single  and  only  chance  for  me  to  return 
to  manhood  and  obtain  earthly  happiness.  Do  you 
follow  me,  dearest?" 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  into  his  great, 
staring  eyes. 

"Not  quite,  Nelson,"  she  said,  softly.  "Not 
quite." 

"  You  see,  I  recalled  that  you,  too,  are  not  happy 
here  at  home,  and,  as  in  my  case,  through  no  fault 
of  your  own — no  fault,  except  being  born  different 
from  others  around  you.  I  remembered  all  you'd 
told  me  about  your  mother's  suspicious,  exacting 
nature,  and  how  hard  you  worked  at  home,  and 
how  little  real  joy  you  got  out  of  life,  and  then  it 
came  to  me  that  we  both  had  as  much  right  to 
happiness  as  any  one  else — you  for  your  hard  life 
and  I  for  all  that  I'd  suffered.  So  I  stopped  drink 
ing.  I  have  not  touched  a  drop  to-day,  although  a 
doctor  down  there  said  I  really  needed  a  stimulant. 
You  can  see  how  nervous  I  am.  I  shake  all  over. 
But  I  am  stimulated  by  hope — that's  it,  Cynthia- 
hope!  I've  come  to  tell  you  that  you  can  make  a 
man  of  me — that  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  blot 
out  all  my  trouble." 

"I  don't  see  how,  Nelson."  Cynthia  raised  her 
head  and  looked  into  his  shadowy  face  wonderingly. 

"I've  come  here  to  ask  you  to  leave  this  spot 
with  me  forever.  I've  got  unlimited  means.  Even 
since  I've  been  away  my  iron  lands  in  Alabama 
and  coal  lands  in  Tennessee  have  sprung  up  mar 
vellously  in  value.  This  business  here  at  the  store 

255 


Pole    Baker 

is  a  mere  trifle  compared  to  other  investments  of 
mine.  We  could  go  far  away  where  no  one  knows 
of  my  misfortune,  and,  hand-in-hand,  make  us  a  new 
home  and  new  friends.  Oh,  Cynthia,  that  holds  out 
such  dazzling  promise  to  me  that,  honestly,  all  the 
other  fades  away  in  contrast  to  it.  Just  to  think, 
you'll  be  all  mine,  all  mine — alone  with  me  in  the 
wide,  wide  world!  I  have  no  legal  name  to  give 
you,  it's  true,  but"  -he  laughed  harshly  —  "we 
could  put  our  heads  together  and  pick  a  pretty  one, 
and  call  ourselves  by  it.  I  once  knew  a  man  who 
was  a  foundling,  and  because  they  picked  him  up 
early  in  the  morning  he  was  called  '  Early. '  That 
wouldn't  sound  bad,  would  it?  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Early, 
from  nowhere,  but  nice,  good  people.  What  do  you 
say,  little  girl  ?  It  all  rests  with  you  now.  You  are 
to  decide  whether  I  rise  or  sink  back  again,  for  God 
knows  I  don't  see  how  I  could  possibly  give  you  up. 
I  have  not  acted  right  with  you  all  along  in  not 
declaring  my  love  sooner,  but  I  hardly  knew  my 
mind.  It  was  not  till  that  night  at  the  mill  that  I 
began  to  realize  how  dear  you  were  to  me,  but  it 
was  such  a  wonderful  awakening  that  I  did  not 
speak  of  it  as  I  should.  But  why  don't  you  say 
something,  Cynthia?  Surely  you  don't  love  any 
one  else — " 

She  drew  herself  quite  from  his  embrace,  but,  still 
clasping  one  of  his  hands  like  an  eager  child,  she 
said: 

"Nelson,  I  don't  believe  I'm  foolish  and  im 
petuous  like  some  girls  I  know.  You  are  asking 
me  to  take  the  most  important  step  in  a  woman's 
life,  and  I  cannot  decide  hastily.  You  have  been 

256 


Pole    Baker 

drinking,  Nelson,  you  acknowledge  that  frankly. 
In  fact,  I  would  have  known  it  anyway,  for  you  are 
not  like  you  used  to  be — even  your  voice  has  altered. 
Nelson,  a  man  who  will  give  way  to  whiskey  even  in 
great  trouble  is  not  absolutely  a  safe  man.  I'm  un 
happy,  I'll  admit  it.  I've  suffered  since  you  dis 
appeared  as  I  never  dreamed  a  woman  could  suffer, 
and  yet — and  yet  what  you  propose  seems  a  very 
imprudent  thing  to  do.  When  did  you  want  me 
to  leave?" 

"A  week  from  to-night,"  he  said.  "I  can  have 
everything  ready  by  then  and  will  bring  a  horse  and 
buggy.  I'll  leave  them  down  below  the  orchard  and 
meet  you  right  here.  I'll  whistle  in  the  old  way, 
and  you  must  come  to  me.  For  God's  sake  don't 
refuse.  I  promise  to  grant  any  request  you  make. 
Not  a  single  earthly  wish  of  yours  shall  ever  go 
unsatisfied.  I  know  I  can  make  you  happy." 

Cynthia  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She  drew  her 
hand  from  his  clasp.  "  I'll  promise  this  much,"  she 
said,  in  a  low,  firm  voice.  "  I'll  promise  to  bring 
my  decision  here  next  Friday  night.  If  I  decide  to 
go,  I  suppose  I'd  better  pack — 

"Only  a  very  few  things,"  he  interposed.  "We 
shall  stop  in  New  Orleans  and  you  can  get  all  you 
want.  Oh,  little  girl,  think  of  my  sheer  delight 
over  seeing  you  fairly  loaded  down  with  the  beauti 
ful  things  you  ought  always  to  have  had,  and  noting 
the  wonder  of  everybody  over  your  rare  beauty  of 
face  and  form,  and  to  know  that  you  are  all  mine, 
that  you  gave  up  everything  for  a  nameless  man! 
You  will  not  go  back  on  me,  dearest?  You  won't 
do  it,  after  all  I've  been  through?" 

257 


Pole    Baker 

Cynthia  was  silent  after  this  burst  of  feeling,  and 
he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  drew  her,  slightly 
resisting,  into  his  embrace. 

"What  is  troubling  you,  darling?"  he  asked,  ten 
derly. 

"I'm  worried  about  your  drinking,"  she  faltered. 
"I've  seen  more  misery  come  from  that  habit  than 
anything  else  in  the  world." 

"  But  I  swear  to  you  that  not  another  drop  shall 
ever  pass  my  lips,"  he  said.  "Why,  darling,  even 
with  no  promise  to  you  to  hold  me  back,  I  volun 
tarily  did  without  it  to-day,  when  right  now  my 
whole  system  is  crying  out  for  it  and  almost  driving 
me  mad.  If  I  could  do  that  of  my  own  accord,  don't 
you  see  I  could  let  it  alone  forever  for  your  sake?" 

"  But  " — Cynthia  raised  her  eyes  to  his — "  between 
now  and — and  next  Friday  night,  will  you — " 

"  I  shall  be  as  sober  as  a  judge  when  I  come,"  he 
laughed,  absorbing  hope  from  her  question.  "I 
shall  come  to  you  with  the  clearest  head  I  ever  had 
— the  clearest  head  and  the  lightest  heart,  little 
girl,  for  we  are  going  out  together  into  a  great, 
mysterious,  dazzling  world.  You  will  not  refuse 
me?  You  are  sent  to  me  to  repay  me  for  all  I've 
been  through.  That's  the  way  Providence  acts.  It 
brings  us  through  misery  and  shadows  out  into  joy 
and  light.  My  shadows  have  been  dark,  but  my 
light — great  God,  did  mortal  ever  enter  light  such 
as  ours  will  be!" 

"Well,  I'll  decide  by  next  Friday  night,"  Cynthia 
said;  "that's  all  I  can  promise  now.  It  is  a  most 
important  matter  and  I  shall  give  it  a  great  deal  of 
thought.  I  see  the  way  you  look  at  it." 

258 


Pole     Baker 

"But,  Cynthia,"  he  cautioned  her,  "don't  tell  a 
soul  that  I've  been  here.  They  think  I'm  dead;  let 
them  continue  to  do  so.  Friday  night  just  leave  a 
note  saying  that  you  have  gone  off  with  me  and  that 
you  will  write  the  particulars  later.  But  we  won't 
write  till  we  have  put  a  good  many  miles  behind  us. 
Your  mother  will  raise  a  lot  of  fuss,  but  we  can't 
help  that." 

"I  shall  not  mention  it  to  any  one,"  the  girl 
agreed,  and  she  rose  and  stood  before  him,  half 
turned  to  go. 

"Then  kiss  me,  dearest,"  he  pleaded,  seizing  her 
hands  and  holding  them  tight — "kiss  me  of  your 
own  accord ;  you  know  you  never  have  done  that, 
not  even  once,  since  I've  known  you." 

"No;  don't  ask  me  to  do  that,"  she  said,  firmly, 
"for  that  would  be  absolute  consent,  and  I  tell  you, 
Nelson,  frankly,  I  have  not  yet  fully  decided.  You 
must  not  build  on  it  too  much." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  that  way,  darling.  Don't  let  me 
carry  a  horrible  doubt  for  a  whole  week.  Do  say 
something  that  will  keep  up  my  hopes." 

"All  I  can  say  is  that  I'll  decide  by  Friday 
night,"  she  repeated.  "And  if  I  go  I  shall  be 
ready.  Good-night,  Nelson ;  I  can't  stay  out  longer. ' ' 

He  walked  with  her  as  far  as  he  could  safely  do  so 
in  the  direction  of  the  farm-house,  and  then  they 
parted  without  further  words. 

"  She'll  go — the  dear  little  thing,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  enthusiastically,  as  he  walked  through  the  or 
chard.  When  he  had  climbed  over  the  fence  he 
paused,  looked  back,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
An  unpleasant  thrill  passed  over  him.  It  was  the 

259 


Pole     Baker 

very  spot  on  which  he  had  met  Pole  Baker  that  night 
and  had  been  so  soundly  reprimanded  for  his  indis 
cretion  in  quitting  Nathan  Porter's  premises  in  such 
a  stealthy  manner. 

Suddenly  Floyd  pressed  his  hand  to  his  waistcoat- 
pocket  and  drew  out  a  tiny  object  that  glittered  in 
the  moonlight.  "The  engagement  ring!"  he  ex 
claimed,  in  a  tone  of  deep  disappointment;  "and  I 
forgot  to  give  it  to  her.  What  a  fool  I  was,  when 
she's  never  had  a  diamond  in  her  life!  Well" — he 
looked  hesitatingly  towards  the  farm-house  —  "it 
wouldn't  do  to  call  her  back  now.  I'll  keep  it  till 
Friday  night.  Like  an  idiot,  I  forgot,  too,  in  my 
excitement,  to  tell  her  where  we  are  to  be  married — 
that  is,  if  she  will  go ;  but  she  won't  desert  me — I 
can  trust  her.  She  will  be  my  wife — my  wife  /" 


XXXI 

:HE  next  morning,  after  breakfast, 
Mrs.  Porter  told  her  husband  to  har 
ness  the  horse  and  hitch  him  to  the 
buggy.  "  I've  got  some  butter  ready 
to  sell,"  she  explained,  "  and  some  few 
things  to  buy." 

"You'll  gain  lots  by  it,"  Nathan  sneered,  as  he 
reluctantly  proceeded  to  do  her  bidding.  "  In  the 
fust  place  it  will  take  yore  time  fer  half  a  day,  the 
hbss's  time  fer  half  a  day,  an'  the  wear  an'  tear 
on  the  buggy  will  amount  to  more  than  all  you  git 
fer  the  butter.  But  that's  the  way  women  cal 
culate.  They  can't  see  an  inch  'fore  the'r  noses." 

"  I  can  see  far  enough  before  mine  to  hear  you 
grumbling  at  dinner  about  the  coffee  being  out," 
she  threw  back  at  him;  "something  you,  with  all 
your  foresight,  forgot  yesterday." 

"Huh,  I  reckon  the  old  lady  did  hit  me  that 
pop!"  Nathan  admitted  to  himself  as  he  walked 
away.  "  Fust  thing  I  know  I'll  not  be  able  to  open 
my  mouth — women  are  gittin'  so  dern  quick  on  the 
trigger — an',  by  gum,  I  did  forgit  that  coffee,  as 
necessary  as  the  stuff  is  to  my  comfort." 

When  Porter  brought  the  horse  and  buggy  around 
a  few  minutes  later  his  wife  was  ready  on  the  porch 
with  her  pail  of  neatly  packed  butter.  Cynthia  came 

261 


Pole    Baker 

to  the  door,  but  her  mother  only  glanced  at  her  coldly 
as  she  took  up  her  pail  and  climbed  into  the  ve 
hicle  and  grasped  the  reins. 

Reaching  May  hew  &  Floyd's  store,  she  went  in 
and  showed  the  butter  to  Joe  Peters,  who  stood  be 
hind  one  of  the  counters. 

"I  want  eighteen  cents  a  pound,"  she  said.  "If 
towns-people  won't  pay  it,  they  can't  eat  my  butter. 
Butter  for  less  than  that  is  white  and  puffy  and 
full  of  whey." 

"What  did  you  want  in  exchange  for  it,  Mrs. 
Porter?"  the  clerk  asked.  "  In  trade,  you  know,  we 
do  better  than  for  cash." 

"I  want  its  worth  in  coffee,"  she  said,  "that's 
all." 

"We'll  take  it,  then,  and  be  glad  to  get  it,"  Peters 
said,  and  he  put  the  firm,  yellow  lumps  on  tHe 
scales,  made  a  calculation  with  a  pencil  on  a  piece 
of  wrapping-paper,  and  began  to  put  up  the  coffee. 
Meanwhile,  she  looked  about  her.  Mayhew  sat  at  a 
table  in  the  rear.  The  light  from  a  window  beyond 
him,  falling  on  his  gray  head,  made  it  look  like  a 
bunch  of  cotton. 

"I  reckon  he's  keeping  his  own  books  now  that 
Nelson  Floyd's  away?"  she  said,  interrogatively,  to 
the  busy  clerk. 

"A  body  mought  call  it  book-keepin',"  Peters 
laughed,  "but  it's  all  I  can  do  to  make  out  his 
scratchin'.  He  writes  an  awful  fist.  The  truth  is, 
we  are  terribly  upset  by  Floyd's  absence,  Mrs.  Por 
ter.  His  friends — folks  that  like  'im — come  fer  forty 
miles,  clean  across  the  Tennessee  line,  to  trade  with 
him,  and  when  they  don't  see  him  about  they  go 

262 


Pole    Baker 

on  with  empty  wagons  to  Darley.  It's  mighty  nigh 
runnin'  the  old  man  crazy.  He  sees  now  who  was 
butterin'  his  bread.  Ef  Nelson  was  to  come  back 
now  the  old  cuss  'ud  dress  'im  out  in  purple  an'  fine 
linen  an'  keep  'im  in  a  glass  case." 

"Do  you  expect  Floyd  to  come  back?"  Mrs. 
Porter  was  putting  the  damp  napkin  back  into  her 
empty  pail.  Indifference  lay  in  her  face  and  voice 
but  had  not  reached  her  nervous  fingers. 

"Mrs.  Porter" — Peters  spoke  lower.  He  came 
around  the  counter  and  joined  her  on  the  threshold 
of  the  door — "I'm  a-goin'  to  let  you  on  to  some'n' 
that  I'm  afeard  to  tell  even  the  old  man.  The 
Lord  knows  I  wouldn't  have  Mrs.  Snodgrass  an'  her 
team  git  hold  of  it  fer  the  world.  You  see,  ef  I  was 
to  talk  too  much  I  mought  lose  my  job.  Anyway, 
I  don't  want  to  express  an  opinion  jest  on  bare 
suspicion,  but  I  know  you've  got  a  silent  tongue  in 
yore  head,  an'  I  think  I  know,  too,  why  yo're  in 
terested,  an'  I'm  in  sympathy  with  you  an'  —  an' 
Miss — an'  with  all  concerned,  Mrs.  Porter." 

"You  said  you  were  going  to  tell  me  something," 
the  old  woman  reminded  him,  her  glance  on  the 
court-house  across  the  street,  her  voice  tense, 
probing,  and  somewhat  resentful  of  his  untactful 
reference  to  Cynthia. 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  tell  you  this  much,"  said  Peters, 
"but  it's  in  strict  confidence,  Mrs.  Porter.  Thar 
has  been  a  lot  o'  letters  fer  Floyd  on  all  sorts  o' 
business  affairs  accumulatin'  here.  May  hew 's  been 
openin'  'em  all  an'  keepin'  'em  in  a  stack  in  a  cer 
tain  pigeon-hole  of  the  desk.  Now,  I  seed  them 
letters  thar  jest  last  night  when  I  closed  the  store, 

263 


Pole    Baker 

an'  this  mornin'  early,  when  I  opened  up  an'  was 
sweepin'  out,  I  missed  'em." 

"Ah,  I  see!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Porter,  impulsively. 

"Well,  ef  you  do,  you  see  more  'n  me,"  Peters 
went  on,  "  fer  I  don't  know  how  it  happened.  It's 
bothered  me  all  day.  You  see,  I  can't  talk  to  the 
old  man  about  it,  fer  maybe  he  come  down  here 
some  time  last  night  an'  got  'em  fer  some  purpose  or 
other.  An'  then  ag'in — well,  thar  is  jest  three  keys 
to  the  house,  Mrs.  Porter,  the  one  the  old  man  has, 
the  one  I  tote,  an'  the  one  Nelson  Floyd  tuck  off 
with  'im." 

"  So  you  have  an  idea  that  maybe — 

"  I  hain't  no  idea  about  it,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Porter, 
unless — unless  Nelson  Floyd  come  back  here  last 
night  an'  come  in  the  store  an'  got  his  mail." 

"Ah,  you  think  he  may  be  back?" 

"I  don't  know  that  he  is,  you  understand,  but 
I'm  a-goin'  to  hope  that  he  ain't  dead,  Mrs.  Porter. 
Ef  thar  ever  was  a  man  I  loved — that  is  to  say, 
downright  loved — it  was  Nelson  Floyd.  La  me!  I 
could  stand  here  from  now  till  sundown  an'  not  git 
through  tellin'  you  the  things  he's  done  in  my  behalf. 
You  remember — jest  to  mention  one — that  mother 
had  to  be  tuck  to  Atlanta  to  Dr.  Winston  to  have  a 
cancer  cut  out.  Well,  she  had  no  means,  an'  I 
didn't,  an'  we  was  in  an  awful  plight — her  jest 
cryin'  an'  takin'  on  day  an'  night  in  the  fear  o' 
death.  Well,  Nelson  got  onto  it.  He  drawed  me 
off  behind  the  store  one  day — as  white  as  a  sheet, 
bless  your  soul!  fer  it  mighty  nigh  scared  the  boy 
to  death  to  be  ketched  at  his  good  acts — an'  he  up 
an'  told  me  he  was  goin'  to  pay  the  whole  bill,  but 

264 


Pole    Baker 

that  I  mustn't  tell  nobody,  an'  I  wouldn't  tell  you 
now  ef  mean  reports  wasn't  out  agin  'im.  I  hardly 
knowed  what  to  do,  fer  I  didn't  want  to  be  beholden 
to  'im  to  sech  a  great  extent,  but  he  made  me  take 
the  money,  an',  as  you  know,  mother  got  well  ag'in. 
Then  what  did  he  do  but  raise  my  wages  away  up 
higher  than  any  clerk  in  this  part  o'  the  state  gits. 
That  mighty  nigh  caused  a  split  betwixt  him  an'  the 
old  man,  but  Nelson  had  his  way.  I  tried  to  pay 
some  on  the  debt,  but  he  wouldn't  take  it.  He 
wouldn't  even  let  me  give  'im  my  note ;  he'd  always 
laugh  an'  turn  it  off,  an'  of  late  it  sorter  made  'im 
mad,  an'  I  simply  had  to  quit  talkin'  about  it." 

"He  had  his  good  side."  Mrs.  Porter  yielded  the 
point  significantly.  "  I  never  denied  that.  But  a 
man  that  does  good  deeds  half  the  time  and  bad 
half  the  time  gets  a  chance  to  do  a  sort  of  evil 
that  men  with  worse  reputations  don't  run  across." 
Mrs.  Porter  moved  away  towards  her  buggy,  and 
then  she  came  back,  and,  looking  him  straight  in 
the  eye,  she  said,  "  I  hardly  think,  Joe,  the  fact  that 
those  letters  are  missing  proves  that  Nelson  Floyd 
was  here  last  night." 

"You  don't  think  so,  Mrs.  Porter?"  Peters'  face 
fell. 

"No;  Mr.  Mayhew  no  doubt  took  them  to  look 
over.  I  understand  he  and  Pole  Baker  are  trying 
to  get  track  of  Floyd.  You  see,  they  may  have 
hoped  to  get  some  clew  from  the  letters." 

"That's  a  fact,  Mrs.  Porter,"  and,  grown  quite 
thoughtful,  the  clerk  was  silent  as  he  helped  her  into 
her  buggy. 

"Huh!"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  started  off. 

265 


Pole     Baker 

"Floyd's  done  a  lot  o'  good  deeds,  has  he?  I've 
known  men  to  act  like  angels  to  set  their  consciences 
at  rest  after  conduct  that  would  make  the  bad 
place  itself  turn  pink  in  shame.  I  know  your  kind, 
Nelson  Floyd,  and  a  little  of  you  goes  a  long  way." 


XXXII 

fRS.  PORTER  drove  down  the  village 
street  between  the  rows  of  scattered 
houses  till  she  arrived  at  a  modest 
cottage  with  a  white  paling  fence  in 
front  and  a  few  stunted  flowers.  Here 
she  alighted.  There  was  a  hitching-post,  with  an 
old  horseshoe  nailed  near  the  top  for  a  hook,  and, 
throwing  the  reins  over  it,  she  went  into  the  yard. 
Some  one  came  to  a  window  and  parted  the  curtains. 
It  was  Hillhouse.  He  turned  and  stepped  quickly 
to  the  door,  a  startled  expression  of  inquiry  on  his 
face. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  he  said.  "Really,  I  wasn't 
looking  for  anybody  to  drop  in  so  early  in  the  day ; 
and  this  is  the  first  time  you've  ever  called,  Sister 
Porter." 

With  a  cold  nod  she  walked  past  him  into  the 
little  white- walled,  carpetless  hall. 

"You've  got  a  parlor,  haven't  you?"  she  asked, 
cautiously  looking  around. 

"Oh  yes;  excuse  me,"  he  stammered,  and  he 
awkwardly  opened  a  door  on  the  right.  "Walk  in, 
walk  in.  I'm  awfully  rattled  this  morning.  Seeing 
you  so  sudden  made  me — 

"  I   hope   the   Marshall  family  across  the  street 
weren't  watching  as  I  got  out,"  she  broke  in,  as  she 
'8  267 


Pole     Baker 

preceded  him  into  the  parlor.  "  People  talk  so 
much  here,  and  I  wanted  to  see  you  privately.  Let 
a  woman  with  a  grown  daughter  go  to  an  unmar 
ried  preacher's  house  and  you  never  hear  the  last 
of  it." 

She  sat  down  in  a  rocking-chair  and  looked  about 
her,  he  thought,  with  an  expression  of  subdued 
excitement.  The  room  wTas  most  simply  furnished. 
On  the  floor  lay  a  rag  carpet,  with  rugs  of  the  same 
material.  A  cottage  organ  stood  in  one  corner,  and 
a  round,  marble-topped  table  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  held  a  lamp  and  a  plush-covered  album.  On 
the  white  walls  hung  family  portraits,  black-and- 
white  enlarged  photographs.  The  window  looking 
towards  the  street  had  a  green  shade  and  white, 
stiffly  starched  lace  curtains. 

"Your  mother  and  sister — are  they  in  the  house?" 
Mrs.  Porter  asked. 

"No,"  he  answered,  standing  in  front  of  her. 
"  They  went  over  to  McGill's  as  soon  as  breakfast  was 
finished.  You  know  their  little  boy  got  kicked  by  a 
mule  yesterday." 

"Yes,  I  heard  so,  and  I'm  glad  they  are  not  here 
— though  you'd  better  tell  them  I  came.  If  you 
don't,  and  the  Marshalls  happen  to  mention  it  to 
them,  they  might  think  it  strange." 

"You wanted  to  see  me  alone,  then?"  Hillhouse 
put  out  his  stiff,  tentative  hand  and  drew  a  chair 
to  him  and  sat  down  in  it. 

"Yes,  I'm  in  trouble — great,  great  trouble,"  the 
old  woman  said,  her  steely  glance  on  his  face;  "and 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  see  how  I'm  going  to 
get  around  it.  I  couldn't  mention  it  to  any  one  else 

268 


Pole    Baker 

but  you,  not  even  Nathan  nor  mother.  In  fact,  you 
ought  to  know,  for  it's  bound  to  worry  you,  too." 

"Oh,  Sister  Porter,  what  is  it?  Don't  keep  me 
waiting.  I  knew  you  were  in  some  trouble  when 
I  saw  your  face  as  you  came  in  at  the  gate.  Is  it 
about—" 

"Of  course  it's  about  Cynthia,"  sighed  the  woman 
— "about  her  and  Nelson  Floyd." 

"  He's  dead,  and  she—  "  Hillhouse  began,  but  Mrs. 
Porter  stopped  him. 

"No,  that  isn't  it,"  she  went  on.  "He's  alive. 
He's  back  here." 

"Oh,  is  that  so?"  Hillhouse  leaned  forward,  his 
face  white,  his  thin  lips  quivering. 

"Yes,  I'll  tell  you  about  it,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Porter.  "  Of  late  I've  been  unable  to  sleep  for  think 
ing  of  Cynthia  and  her  actions,  she's  seemed  so 
reckless  and  despondent,  and  last  night  I  left  my 
bed  and  started  to  creep  in  and  see  if  she  was 
asleep.  I  had  on  soft  slippers  and  made  no  noise, 
and  had  just  got  to  the  end  of  the  hall,  when  her  door 
opened  and  she  went  out  at  the  front." 

"Gone?  Oh,  don't — don't  tell  me  that,  Mrs.  Por 
ter!" 

"  No,  not  that,  quite;  but  wait  till  I  am  through," 
Mrs.  Porter  said,  her  tone  hard  and  crisp.  "  When 
I  got  to  the  porch  I  saw  her  just  disappearing  in 
the  orchard.  And  then  I  heard  somebody  whist 
ling  like  a  whippoorwill.  It  was  Nelson  Floyd.  He 
was  standing  at  the  grape-arbor,  and  the  two  met 
there.  They  went  inside  and  sat  down,  and  then, 
as  there  was  a  thick  row  of  rose-bushes  between  the 
house  and  the  arbor,  I  slipped  up  behind  it.  I 

269 


Pole    Baker 

crouched  down  low  till  I  was  almost  flat  on  the 
ground.  I  heard  every  word  that  passed  between 
them." 

Hillhouse  said  nothing.  The  veins  in  his  fore 
head  stood  out  full  and  dark.  Drops  of  perspira 
tion,  the  dew  of  mental  agony,  appeared  on  his 
cheeks. 

"Don't  form  hasty  judgment,"  Mrs.  Porter  said. 
"  If  I  ever  doubted,  or  feared  my  child's  weakness  on 
that  man's  account,  I  don't  now.  She's  as  good  and 
pure  as  the  day  she  was  born.  In  fact,  I  don't 
believe  she  would  have  gone  out  to  meet  him  that 
way  if  she  hadn't  been  nearly  crazy  over  the  un 
certainty  as  to  what  had  happened  to  him.  I  don't 
blame  her;  I'd  have  done  it  myself  if  I'd  cared  as 
much  for  a  man  as  she  does  about  him — or  thinks 
she  does." 

"You  say  you  heard  what  passed?"  Hillhouse 
panted. 

"  Yes,  and  never  since  I  was  born  have  I  heard  such 
stuff  as  he  poured  into  that  poor  child's  ears.  As  I 
listened  to  his  talk,  one  instant  my  heart  would 
bleed  with  sympathy  and  the  next  I'd  want  to  grab 
him  by  the  throat  and  strangle  him.  He  was  all 
hell  and  all  heaven's  angels  bound  up  in  one  human 
shape  to  entrap  one  frail  human  being.  He  went 
over  all  his  suffering  from  babyhood  up,  saying  he 
had  had  as  much  put  on  him  as  he  could  stand. 
He  had  come  back  by  stealth  and  didn't  want  a 
soul  but  her  to  know  he  was  here;  he  didn't  intend 
ever  to  face  the  sneers  of  these  folks  and  let  them 
throw  up  his  mother's  sin  to  him.  He'd  been  on  a 
long  and  terrible  debauch,  but  had  sobered  up  and 

270 


Pole    Baker 

promised  to  stay  that  way  if  she  would  run  away 
with  him  to  some  far-off  place  where  no  soul  would 
ever  know  his  history.  He  had  no  end  of  funds,  he 
said;  he'd  made  money  on  investments  outside  of 
Springtown,  and  he  promised  to  gratify  every  wish 
of  hers.  She  was  to  have  the  finest  and  best  in  the 
land,  and  get  away  from  a  miserable  existence  un 
der  my  roof.  Oh,  I  hate  him — poisoning  her  mind 
against  the  mother  who  nursed  her!" 

"He  wanted  her  to  elope!"  gasped  Hillhouse— 
"to  elope  with  a  man  just  off  of  a  long  drunk 
and  with  a  record  like  that  behind  him  —  her, 
that  beautiful,  patient  child!  But  what  did  she 
say?" 

"At  first  she  refused  to  go,  as  well  as  I  could 
make  out,  and  then  she  told  him  she  would  have 
to  think  over  it.  He  is  to  meet  her  at  the  same 
place  next  Friday  night,  and  if  she  decides  to  go 
between  now  and  then  she  will  be  ready." 

"Thank  God,  we've  discovered  it  ahead  of  time!" 
Hillhouse  said,  fervently,  and  he  got  up,  and,  with 
his  head  hanging  low  and  his  bony  hands  clutched 
behind  him  over  the  tails  of  his  long,  black  coat,  he 
walked  back  and  forth  from  the  window  to  the 
door.  "  I  tell  you,  Sister  Porter,"  he  almost  sobbed, 
"  I  can't  give  her  up  to  him.  I  can't,  I  tell  you.  It 
isn't  in  me.  I'd  die  rather  than  have  her  go  off 
with  him." 

"So  would  I — so  would  I,  fearin'  what  I  now  do," 
Mrs.  Porter  said,  without  looking  at  him. 

"Fearing  what  you  now  do?"  Hillhouse  paused  in 
front  of  her. 

"That's  what  I  said."  The  old  woman  raised  her 
271 


Pole    Baker 

eyes  to  his.  Hillhouse  sank  down  into  his  chair, 
nursing  a  new-born  alarm  in  his  lap. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Sister  Porter?"  he  asked,  in 
a  low  tone. 

"Why,  I  mean  that  I  never  heard  any  thorough 
ly  rational  man  on  earth  talk  just  as  Floyd  did  last 
night.  I  may  be  away  off.  I  may  be  wronging  him 
badly,  but  not  once  in  all  his  tirade  did  he  say  right 
in  so  many  words  that  he  meant  actually  to  marry 
her." 

"Great  God,  the  damnable  wretch!"  Hillhouse 
sprang  again  to  his  feet.  Mrs.  Porter  put  out  her 
hand  and  caught  his  arm  and  drew  him  down  to  his 
chair  again. 

"Don't  decide  hastily,"  she  urged  him.  "I  laid 
awake  all  night  trying  to  get  it  clear  in  my  head. 
He  had  lots  to  say  about  the  awful  way  the  world 
had  treated  him,  and  that  he  felt,  having  no  name, 
that  he  was  unworthy  of  anybody  as  sweet  and 
good  as  she  was,  but  that  if  she  would  go  off  with 
him  he'd  feel  that  she  had  sacrificed  everything  for 
him  and  that  that  would  recompense  him  for  all 
he  had  lost.  He  even  said  that  Providence  some 
times  worked  that  way,  giving  people  a  lot  to  bear 
at  first,  and  then  lifting  them  out  of  it  all  of  a 
sudden." 

Hillhouse  leaned  forward  till  his  elbows  rested 
on  his  knees  and  he  covered  his  ghastly  face  with  his 
hands.  For  a  moment  he  was  silent.  Mrs.  Porter 
could  hear  him  breathing  heavily.  Suddenly  he 
looked  at  her  from  eyes  that  were  almost  blood 
shot. 

" /  understand  him,"  he  declared.  "  He  fell  into  a 
272 


Pole    Baker 

drunkard's  hell,  feeling  that  he  was  justified  in  such 
a  course  by  his  ill-luck,  and  now  he  has  deliberately 
persuaded  himself  that  both  he  and  she  would  be 
justified  in  defying  social  customs — being  a  law  unto 
themselves  as  it  were.  It  is  just  the  sort  of  thing  a 
man  of  his  erratic  character  would  think  of,  and 
the  damnable  temptation  is  so  dazzling  that  he 
is  trying  to  make  himself  believe  they  have  a  right 
to  it." 

"Really,  that  was  what  I  was  afraid  of,"  said 
Mrs.  Porter,  with  a  soft  groan.  "  I  heard  him  tell 
her  that  he  would  never  be  called  by  the  name  of 
Floyd  again.  Surely,  a  man  has  to  have  a  name 
of  some  sort  to  get  legally  married,  doesn't  he?" 

"Of  course  he  has,"  said  Hillhouse.  "But,  my 
God,  Sister  Porter,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"That's  the  trouble,"  answered  the  old  woman. 
"I  understand  Cynthia  well  enough  to  know  that 
she  will  not  be  coerced  in  the  matter.  She  is  going 
to  think  it  all  over,  and  if  she  decides  to  go  with  him 
no  power  on  earth  will  stop  her.  She  looks  already 
better  satisfied.  The  only  thing  I  can  see  is  for  me 
to  try  to  stir  up  her  sympathies  in  some  way.  She's 
tender  -  hearted ;  she'd  hate  to  be  the  cause  of  my 
suffering.  We  must  work  together,  and  in  secret, 
Brother  Hillhouse. 

"Work  together,  but  how?"  the  preacher  groaned. 
"  I  can't  think  of  a  thing  to  do.  If  I  appealed  to 
her  on  the  score  of  my  love  for  her  she  would  only 
balance  that  off  by  his,  and  all  she  imagines  the 
scoundrel  suffers." 

"Oh,  his  trouble  is  real  enough,"  Mrs.  Porter  de 
clared.  "I  tell  you  that  in  spite  of  my  hatred 

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for  him,  and  even  in  spite  of  his  cowardly  insinua 
tions  against  me  ringing  in  my  ears  last  night,  I  felt 
sorry  for  him.  It  would  pierce  a  heart  of  stone  to 
hear  him  talk  as  he  did  to  her.  If  she  resists,  she 
will  be  a  stronger  woman  than  I  would  have  been 
at  her  age  and  under  the  same  circumstances. 
Pshaw!  what  would  I  have  cared  if  I'd  loved  a  man 
with  all  my  heart  and  fate  had  deprived  him  of  a 
name  to  give  me — what  would  I  have  cared  for  the 
opinions  of  a  little  handful  of  people  pent  up  here  in 
the  mountains  when  he  was  asking  me  to  go  with 
him  out  into  the  wide  world  and  take  my  chances 
along  with  him  ?  I  don't  know,  Brother  Hillhouse, 
but  that  I'd  have  gloried  in  the  opportunity  to  say 
I  was  no  better  than  he  was.  That's  the  way  most 
women  would  look  at  it;  that's  the  way,  I'm  afraid, 
she  will  look  at  it." 

The  preacher  turned  upon  her,  cold  fury  snapping 
in  his  eyes  and  voice.  "You  talk  that  way — you!" 
he  snarled — "and  you  her  mother!  You  are  almost 
arguing  that  because  his  father  and  mother  branded 
him  as  they  did  that  he  and  Cynthia  have  a  right 
to — to  brand  their — their  own  helpless  offspring  the 
same  way.  Sin  can't  be  compromised  with." 

"Ah,  you  are  right.  I  wasn't  looking  far  enough 
ahead,"  Mrs.  Porter  acknowledged.  "No,  we  must 
save  her.  Heaven  could  not  possibly  bless  such  a 
step  as  that.  I  want  her  to  hear  somebody  talk  on 
that  line.  Say,  Brother  Hillhouse,  if  I  can  get  her 
to  come  to  church  to-morrow,  could  you  not,  in  a 
roundabout  way,  touch  on  that  idea?" 

"God  knows  I  am  willing  to  try  anything — any 
thing!"  the  minister  said,  despondently.  "Yes, 

274 


Pole    Baker 

bring  her,  if  she  will  come.     She  seems  to  listen  to 
me.     I'll  do  my  best." 

"Well,  I'll  bring  her,"  Mrs.  Sorter  promised. 
"Good-morning.  I'd  better  get  back.  They  will 
wonder  what's  keeping  me." 


XXXIII 

'OR  midsummer,  the  next  morning  was 
clear  and  cool.  Nathan  Porter  rolled 
the  family  spring-wagon  down  to  the 
creek  and  washed  off  the  wheels  and 
greased  the  axles. 
"Your  pa's  getting  ready  to  drive  us  to  church, 
Cynthia,"  Mrs.  Porter  adroitly  said  to  the  girl  as  she 
was  removing  the  dishes  from  the  table  in  the  dining- 
room.  "I  wish  you'd  go  with  me.  I  hate  to  sit 
there  with  just  your  pa." 

There  was  an  instant's  hesitation  visible  in 
Cynthia's  sudden  pause  in  her  work  and  the  startled 
lift  of  her  eyebrows.  Then  she  said: 

"All  right,  mother,  if  you  want  me  to,  I'll  go." 
"Well,  then,  go  get  out  your  white  muslin  and 
flowered  hat.     They  become  you  more  than  any 
thing  you  wear." 

Without  further  words  Cynthia  left  the  room,  and 
Mrs.  Porter  walked  out  into  the  hall  and  stood  in  the 
front  door-way. 

"Somehow,  I  imagine,"  she  mused,  "that  she  was 
thinking  it  would  be  her  last  time  at  our  church. 
I  don't  know  what  makes  me  think  so,  but  she  had 
exactly  that  look  in  her  face.  I  do  wish  I  could  go 
in  and  tell  mother  all  about  it,  but  she's  too  old  and 
childish  to  act  with  caution.  I  can't  go  to  Nathan, 

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Pole    Baker 

either,  for  he'd  laugh  at  me ;  he'd  not  only  do  that, 
but  he'd  tell  it  all  over  the  country  and  drive 
Cynthia  to  meet  Floyd  ahead  of  time.  No,  no;  I 
must  do  the  best  I  can  with  Mr.  Hillhouse's  help. 
He  loves  her;  he'd  make  her  a  good,  safe  husband, 
too,  while  that  dare-devil  would  most  likely  tire  of 
her  in  a  short  time,  and  take  to  drinking  and  leave 
her  high  and  dry  in  some  far-off  place.  No,  Floyd 
won't  do  to  risk." 

The  service  was  not  well  attended  that  morn 
ing,  owing  to  a  revival  in  progress  at  Darley. 
Reports  of  the  good  music  and  high  religious  ex 
citement  had  drawn  away  a  goodly  number  of 
Hillhouse's  parishioners.  But,  considering  the  odd 
nature  of  the  discourse  he  had  planned,  this  was  per 
haps  in  the  young  preacher's  favor.  Indeed,  as  he 
sat  in  his  high-backed  chair  behind  the  little  wooden 
stand,  which  held  a  ponderous  open  Bible,  a  glass 
pitcher  of  water,  and  a  tumbler,  Mrs.  Porter,  as  she 
and  Cynthia  entered  and  took  their  usual  places, 
thought  he  looked  as  if  he  had  not  slept  the  preced 
ing  night.  His  skin  was  yellow,  his  hair  stood  awry, 
and  his  eyes  had  a  queer,  shifting  expression.  Had 
his  wily  old  ally  doubted  that  he  intended  to  fulfil 
his  promise  to  publicly  touch  on  the  matter  so  near 
to  them  both,  she  could  do  so  no  longer  after  he 
had  risen  and  stood  unconsciously  swaying  from 
side  to  side,  as  he  made  some  formal  announcements 
in  harsh,  rigid  tones.  Indeed,  he  had  the  appear 
ance  of  a  man  who  could  have  talked  of  only  one 
thing,  thought  of  only  one  thing,  that  to  which  his 
whole  being  was  nailed.  His  subject  was  that  of  the 
sins  of  the  fathers  being  visited  upon  their  children, 

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Pole    Baker 

even  to  the  third  and  fourth  generations.  And  Mrs. 
Porter  shrank  guiltily  as  his  almost  desperate  voice 
rang  out  in  the  still  room  How  was  it  possible 
for  those  around  not  to  suspect  —  to  know  —  that 
she  had  instigated  the  sermon  and  brought  her 
unsuspecting  child  there  to  be  swerved  by  it  from 
the  dangerous  course  she  was  pursuing?  In  for 
mer  sermons  Hillhouse  had  unfailingly  allowed  his 
glance  to  rest  on  Cynthia's  face,  but  on  this  occa 
sion  he  looked  everywhere  but  at  her.  As  he  pro 
ceeded,  he  seemed  to  take  on  confidence  in  his  theme ; 
his  tone  rose  high,  clear,  and  firm,  and  quivered  in 
the  sheer  audacity  of  his  aim.  He  showed,  from 
that  lesson,  the  serious  responsibility  resting  on  each 
individual  —  each  prospective  mother  and  father. 
Then,  all  at  once,  it  dawned  on  the  congregation 
that  Floyd's  misfortune  had  inspired  the  discourse, 
and  each  man  and  woman  bent  breathlessly  forward 
that  they  might  not  lose  a  word.  The  picture  was 
now  most  clear  to  their  intelligences.  And  seeing 
that  they  understood,  and  were  sympathetically 
following  him,  Hillhouse  swept  on,  the  bit  of  re 
straint  between  his  clinched  teeth,  to  direct,  per 
sonal  reference. 

"  We  can  take  it  home  to  ourselves,  brothers  and 
sisters,"  he  went  on,  passionately.  "  Even  in  our 
own  humble,  uneventful  lives  here  in  the  moun 
tains,  out  of  the  great  current  of  worldliness  that 
flows  through  the  densely  populated  portions  of 
our  land,  we  have  seen  a  terrible  result  of  this  failure 
of  man  to  do  his  duty  to  his  posterity.  Right  here 
in  our  midst  the  hand  of  God  has  fallen  so  heavily 
that  the  bright  hopes  of  sterling  youth  are  crushed 

278 


Pole     Baker 

out  completely.  There  was  here  among  us  a  fine 
specimen  of  mental  and  physical  manhood,  a  young 
soul  full  of  hope  and  ambition.  There  was  not  a 
ripple  on  the  calm  surface  of  that  life,  not  a  cloud 
in  the  clear  sky  of  its  future,  when,  without  warn 
ing,  the  shadow  of  God's  hand  spread  over  it.  The 
awful  past  was  unrolled — one  man  arid  woman,  for 
selfish,  personal  desires,  were  at  the  root  of  it  all. 
Some  shallow  thinkers  claim  that  there  is  no  hell, 
neither  spiritual  nor  material.  To  convince  such  in 
dividuals  I  would  point  the  scornful  finger  of  proof 
to  the  agony  of  that  young  man.  Are  they — that 
selfish  couple — enjoying  the  bliss  of  the  redeemed 
and  he,  the  helpless  product  of  their  sin,  suffering 
as  you  know  he  must  be  suffering  ?  In  this  case  the 
tangible  and  visible  must  establish  the  verity  of  the 
vague  and  invisible.  They  are  paying  the  debt — 
somewhere,  somehow — you  may  count  on  that." 

Mrs.  Porter,  with  bated  breath,  eyed  Cynthia 
askance.  To  her  astonishment  a  flush  had  risen 
into  the  girl's  cheeks,  and  there  was  in  her  steady 
eye  something  like  the  thin-spread  tear  of  deep  and 
glorified  emotion,  as  she  sat  with  tightly  clasped 
hands,  her  breast  tumultuously  heaving.  The  house 
was  very  still,  so  still  that  the  rustling  of  the  leaves 
in  the  trees  near  the  open  windows  now  and  then 
swept  like  the  soft  sighing  of  grief-stricken  nature 
through  the  room.  Hillhouse,  a  baffled,  almost 
hunted  look  on  his  gaunt  face,  paused  to  take 
a  sup  of  water,  and  for  one  instant  his  eyes  met 
Cynthia's  as  he  wiped  his  mouth  on  his  hand 
kerchief  and  with  trembling  hands  returned  it  to 
his  pocket.  Mrs.  Porter  was  conscious  of  the  im- 

279 


Pole    Baker 

pression  that  he  had  not  quite  carried  the  subject  to 
its  logical  climax,  and  was  wondering  how  it  had 
happened,  when  Hillhouse  almost  abruptly  closed 
his  discourse.  He  sat  down,  as  if  crushed  by  the 
weight  of  defeat,  and  looked  steadily  and  de 
spondently  at  the  floor,  while  the  congregation  stood 
and  sang  the  doxology.  Then  he  rose  and,  with 
hands  out  -  stretched  as  stiffly  as  those  of  a  wired 
skeleton,  he  pronounced  the  benediction. 

As  they  were  turning  to  leave,  Cynthia  and  her 
mother  faced  old  Nathan,  who  stood  waiting  for 
them. 

"Hillhouse  don't  look  one  bit  well  to-day,"  he 
observed,  as  they  were  going  out.  "I'll  bet  he's 
been  eatin'  some  o'  the  fool  stuff  women  an'  gals 
has  been  concoctin'  to  bewitch  'im  with.  They  say 
the  shortest  road  to  a  man's  heart  is  through  his 
stomach — it's  the  quickest  route  to  a  man's  grave, 
too,  I'm  here  to  state  to  you." 

"Oh,  do  hush!"  Mrs.  Porter  exclaimed,  her  mind 
on  something  foreign  to  Nathan's  comment.  "You 
two  walk  on ;  I'm  going  to  shake  hands  with  Brother 
Hillhouse  and  ask  about  his  mother." 

She  fell  back  behind  the  crowd  surging  through 
the  door,  and  waited  for  the  preacher  to  come  down 
the  aisle  to  her. 

"  I  couldn't  see  exactly  what  you  were  driving  at," 
she  said,  extending  her  hand.  "  I  never  heard  finer 
argument  or  argument  put  in  better  language  than 
what  you  said,  but  it  seemed  to  me  you  left  off 
something. ' ' 

"I  did,"  he  said,  desperately.  "I  was  going  to 
end  up  with  the  evil  tendencies  he  had  inherited 

280 


Pole    Baker 

from  his  parents,  and  the  pitfalls  such  a  man  would 
lead  others  into,  but  L  couldn't  drive  my  tongue  to 
it.  I  had  gone  too  far  in  dilating  on  his  wrongs  for 
that,  and  then  I  caught  sight  of  Cynthia's  face. 
I  read  it.  I  read  through  it  down  into  the  depths  of 
her  soul.  What  I  was  saying  was  only  making  her 
glory  in  the  prospect  of  self-sacrifice  in  his  behalf. 
When  I  saw  that — when  I  realized  that  it  will  take 
a  miracle  of  God  to  snatch  her  from  him,  I  felt  every 
thing  swimming  about  me.  Her  flushed  face,  her 
sparkling,  piercing  eyes,  drove  me  wild.  I  started 
in  to  attack  him  behind  his  back  and  was  foiled  in 
the  effort.  But  I  won't  give  up.  I  can't  lose  her — 
I  can't,  I  tell  you!  She  was  made  for  me.  I  was 
made  for  her,  and  she  would  realize  it  if  this  devil's 
dream  would  pass." 

Mrs.  Porter  sighed.  "I  don't  know  what  to  do," 
she  declared.  "  If  I  could  trust  him,  I'd  give  in,  but 
I  can't.  I  can't  let  my  only  child  go  off  with  any 
man  of  his  stamp,  on  those  conditions.  But  I  must 
run  on — they  are  waiting  for  me.  She  must  never 
suspect  that  this  was  done  for  her  benefit." 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  day  set  for  the  meet 
ing  between  Cynthia  and  Floyd.  Mrs.  Porter,  still 
carrying  her  weighty  secret,  went  into  town  actu 
ated  by  nothing  but  the  hope  that  she  might  acciden 
tally  meet  Hillhouse.  He  seemed  to  be  on  the  look 
out  for  her,  for  he  came  down  the  street  from  the 
village  square  and  waited  for  her  to  join  him  near 
the  hitching-rack  and  public  trough  for  the  water 
ing  of  horses. 

"I  was  on  the  way  to  see  you,"  she  said,  looking 
281 


Pole    Baker 

about   her   cautiously,  as  if  averse  to  being  seen 
in  his  company. 

"In  answer  to  my  prayer,"  he  replied.  "I'm 
suffering  great  agony,  Sister  Porter." 

"Well,  you  are  not  any  worse  off  than  I  am,"  she 
made  answer.  "  She's  my  only  child." 

He  leaned  towards  her  till  his  face  was  close  to 
her  own.  "Something  must  be  done,"  he  said. 
"I'm  ready  for  anything.  I  can't  bear  it  any 
longer.  Last  night  the  devil  rose  in  me  and  con 
quered  me.  I  was  ready  to  kill  him." 

"And  after  all  those  beautiful  things" — Mrs. 
Porter  smiled  calmly — "  that  you  said  about  him  in 
your  sermon." 

"The  feeling  didn't  last  long,"  Hillhouse  said, 
gloomily.  "  It  swept  through  me  like  a  storm  and 
left  me  on  my  knees  praying  God  to  spare  her. 
Did  she  make  any  comment  on  my  sermon?" 

"  No,  but  I  saw  it  failed  to  affect  her  as  we  want 
ed  it  to.  I  have  kept  a  close  watch  on  her.  At 
times  she's  had  the  appearance  of  a  woman  giving 
up  all  hope,  and  then  again  a  rebellious  look  would 
come  in  her  face,  and  she'd  move  about  with  a 
quick  step,  her  head  up  and  a  defiant  expression, 
as  if  she  was  telling  herself  that  she  had  a  right  to  her 
happiness,  and  would  have  it  at  any  cost." 

"Ah,  I  guess  she  loves  him,"  Hillhouse  sighed; 
"and  she  is  fascinated  by  his  hellish  proposal  and 
the  thought  that  she  is  sacrificing  something  for  his 
sake.  I  wish  I  could  abuse  him,  but  I  can't.  I 
can't  blame  him  for  trying  to  get  her ;  it  is  no  more 
than  any  man  would  do,  any  man  who  knows  what 
she  is." 

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Pole     Baker 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  one  thing,  Brother  Hillhouse  " 
— Mrs.  Porter  was  looking  at  a  row  of  cottages  across 
the  square — "and  I  ask  it  as  a  member  of  your 
church  and  a  woman  that  don't  want  to  commit 
unpardonable  sin.  So  far,  I've  tried  to  obey  the 
commandments  to  the  letter.  I  want  to  know  if 
I'd  ever  be  forgiven  if  I  was  to  descend  to  down 
right  deception — lying  with  my  tongue  and  lying 
in  my  actions  —  that  is,  I  mean,  if,  by  so  doing,  I 
could  save  my  child  from  this  thing?" 

Hillhouse  avoided  her  piercing  eyes ;  his  own  shifted 
under  lowering  brows. 

"  If  you  could  actually  save  her?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  if  I  could  make  her  give  him  up — send 
him  off?" 

"I'll  answer  you  this  way,"  Hillhouse  replied. 
"  If  she  were  in  a  room  and  a  madman  came  search 
ing  for  her  with  a  pistol  and  a  long  knife  bent  upon 
killing  her,  and  if  he  were  to  ask  you,  as  you  stood 
at  the  door,  if  she  were  inside,  would  you  say  yes?" 

"Of  course  I  wouldn't." 

"Well,  there's  your  answer,"  said  the  preacher. 
"He's  a  madman — mad  in  soul,  brain,  and  body. 
He  is  seeking  her  eternal  damnation,  and  the  damna 
tion  of  unborn  souls.  Lie?"  He  laughed  sardoni 
cally.  "  Sister  Porter,  I  could  stand  before  God  and 
lie  that  way,  and  wink  at  the  angels  hovering  over 
the  throne." 

"I  reckon  you  are  right,"  said  the  woman;  "but 
I  wanted  to  make  sure.  And  let  me  tell  you  some 
thing.  If  I  do  resort  to  lying  I'll  put  up  a  good  one, 
and  I'll  back  it  up  by  acting  that  she  nor  no  one  else 
could  see  through.  Let  me  alone.  Leave  it  to  me. 
19  283 


Pole    Baker 

It's  my  last  card,  but  I  feel  like  it's  going  to  win. 
I'm  going  home  now.  I  can  hardly  walk,  I  feel  so 
weak  at  the  knees.  I  haven't  slept  regular  since 
this  thing  came  up.  I'm  going  crazy — I  know  I 
am." 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  you  intend  to 
do?"  Hillhouse  asked,  almost  hopefully. 

"No,  I'm  not  ready  to  do  that  yet,  but  it  will 
have  a  powerful  effect  on  her.  The  only  thing  that 
bothered  me  was  the  sin  of  it,  but  since  you  think 
I'd  have  the  right  I'll  throw  my  whole  soul  into  it. 
She's  so  pure-minded  that  she  won't  suspect  me." 

"God  grant  that  you  succeed,"  Hillhouse  said, 
fervently,  and  he  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot,  and 
watched  her  till  she  had  disappeared  down  the  road 
leading  to  her  home. 


XXXIV 

URING  supper  that  evening  Mrs.  Porter 
eyed  her  daughter  furtively.  Cynthia 
ate  very  little  and  seemed  abstracted, 
paying  no  heed  to  her  father's  rambling, 
inconsequential  remarks  to  her  grand 
mother,  who,  in  her  white  lace  cap,  sat  across  the 
table  from  him.  Supper  over,  the  family  went  out, 
leaving  Cynthia  to  put  the  dishes  away.  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  shambled  quietly  to  her  own  room,  and 
Porter  took  his  pipe  to  his  favorite  chair  on  the 
porch.  Being  thus  at  liberty  to  carry  out  her  own 
plans,  Mrs.  Porter  stole  unnoticed  into  Cynthia's 
room,  and  in  the  half-darkness  looked  about  her. 
The  room  was  in  thorough  order.  The  white  bed 
spread  was  as  smooth  as  a  drift  of  snow,  and  the 
pillows  had  not  a  wrinkle  or  a  crease.  The  old 
woman  noiselessly  opened  the  top  drawer  of  the 
bureau;  here  everything  was  in  its  place.  She 
looked  in  the  next  and  the  next  with  the  same  result. 
Then  she  stood  erect  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  an 
expression  of  perplexity  on  her  face.  Suddenly  she 
seemed  to  have  an  inspiration,  and  she  went  to  the 
girl's  closet  and  opened  the  door.  And  there,  under 
a  soiled  dress  belonging  to  Cynthia,  she  found  a 
travelling-bag  closely  packed. 

With  a  soundless  groan,  Mrs.  Porter  dropped  the 
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Pole    Baker 

dress,  closed  the  closet-door,  and  moved  back  to  the 
centre  of  the  room. 

"My  God!  my  God!"  she  cried.  "I  can't  stand 
it!  She's  fully  made  up  her  mind." 

Mrs.  Porter  left  the  room,  and,  passing  her  hus 
band,  whose  placid  face  appeared  intermittently  in  a 
red  disk  of  light  on  the  end  of  the  porch,  she  went 
down  the  steps  into  the  yard  and  thence  around  the 
house  towards  the  orchard  and  grape-arbor.  She 
paused  among  the  trees,  looking  thoughtfully  at  the 
ground. 

"If  I'm  going  to  do  it,"  she  reflected,  "I'd  better 
throw  out  some  hint  in  advance,  to  sort  of  lead  up  to 
it.  I  wonder  if  my  mind  is  actually  giving  way? 
I  am  sure  I've  been  through  enough  to — but  some 
body  is  coming." 

It  was  Cynthia,  and  she  came  daintily  over  the 
dewy  grass. 

"Mother,  is  that  you?"  she  called  out. 

Mrs.  Porter  made  no  reply. 

"Mother,  is  that  —  but  why  didn't  you  answer 
me?"  Cynthia  came  up,  a  searching  look  of  in 
quiry  in  her  eyes. 

Still  Mrs.  Porter  showed  not  the  slightest  indica 
tion  of  being  aware  of  her  presence.  Cynthia,  in 
increasing  surprise,  laid  her  hand  on  her  mother's 
arm,  but  Mrs.  Porter  shook  it  off  impatiently. 

"  Look  here,  Nathan,  if  you  don't  quit  following 
me  up,  dogging  my  steps,  and  bothering  me  with 
your —  Mrs.  Porter  broke  off,  looking  blankly 
into  Cynthia's  face. 

"Why,  mother,  what  is  the  matter?"  the  girl  ex 
claimed. 

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"  Oh,  you  look  like — you  look  like —  Mrs.  Porter 
moved  to  a  near-by  apple-tree  and  leaned  against 
its  trunk,  and  with  her  head  down  she  began  to 
laugh  softly,  almost  sillily.  Cynthia  drew  near  her 
again,  and,  catching  the  old  woman  by  the  shoulders, 
she  turned  her  forcibly  to  her. 

"Mother,  what's  the  matter?"  she  demanded,  her 
tone  now  quite  full  of  alarm. 

"Oh,  Cynthia,  nothing  is  the  matter  with  me! 
I'm  all  right,  but,  but,  but  —  good  gracious!  just 
this  minute  you  were  —  we  were  all  at  the  table. 
Your  pa  was  in  his  place,  mother  was  in  hers,  and, 
how  in  the  world  "  —Mrs.  Porter  was  looking  around 
in  seeming  astonishment — "how  in  the  world  did 
I  get  out  here?  I  don't  remember  leaving  the 
house.  The  last  thing  I  recall  was — 

"Mother,  what's  the  matter?" 

Mrs.  Porter  stared  in  a  bewildered  way  at  her 
daughter  for  a  moment,  then  she  put  her  hand  to  her 
brow  with  a  weary  gesture.  "Something  must  be 
wrong  with  me,"  she  declared.  "I  didn't  want  to 
mention  it,  but  this  evening  as  I  was  coming  back 
from  town  I  got  rather  warm,  and  all  at  once  I  heard 
a  little  sound  and  felt  something  give  way  in  my 
head.  Oh,  Cynthia,  I'm  afraid  —  I'm  afraid  I'm 
going  like  your  aunt  Martha  did.  They  say  hers 
was  a  drop  of  blood  on  the  brain.  Do  you  suppose 
it  could  be  that,  daughter?" 

"  Oh,  mother,  come  on  in  the  house  and  lie  down. 
Go  to  bed,  and  you  will  feel  better  in  the  morning." 
Cynthia  caught  her  arm,  and,  greatly  perturbed, 
slowly  led  the  old  woman  towards  the  house. 

"It's  worry,  daughter,"  Mrs.  Porter  said,  confid- 
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Pole     Baker 

ingly — "  worry  about  you.  You  seem  to  be  bothered 
on  account  of  Nelson  Floyd's  being  away,  and  I've 
allowed  that  to  prey  on  my  thoughts." 

"  Never  mind  him,  mother,"  Cynthia  said.  " Come 
on  in  and  lie  down.  You  don't  feel  any  pain,  do 
you?" 

"No,  daughter,  not  a  bit — not  a  bit;  but  your 
aunt  didn't,  either.  She  didn't  suffer." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  send  for  the  doctor, 
mother?"  " 

"Doctor?  No — how  ridiculous!  Even  if  it  is  a 
drop  on  the  brain,  he  couldn't  do  me  a  bit  of  good. 
The  brain  is  inside  the — the — what  do  you  call  it? 
See  there,  my  mind  isn't  what  it  was.  I  can't  think 
of  as  common  a  thing  as  a — you  know  what  I  mean, 
Cynthia." 

"  You  mean  skull,  mother,"  the  girl  said,  anxiously. 

"Yes,  I  mean  that.  Your  aunt's  memory  was 
bad,  too.  She  suddenly  forgot  her  own  name,  and 
came  in  from  the  strawberry-patch  one  day  scared 
out  of  her  senses.  The  next  thing  was  her  hand 
getting  numb.  My  thumb  feels  queer ;  I  believe  you 
could  stick  a  needle  through  it  and  I  wouldn't  feel 
it.  But  don't  you  tell  your  pa,  Cynthia.  Wait, 
anyway,  till  to-morrow,  and  see  how  I  feel  then. 
It  may  pass  away,  and  then — then,  again,  it  may 
be  the  first  stroke.  They  say  people  about  my  age 
usually  have  three,  and  the  last  one  ends  it.  I  hope 
I'll  go  naturally — the  way  Martha  went  was  horrible ; 
and  yet  when  I  think  of  all  my  trouble  I — " 

"  Hush,  mother,  don't!"  Cynthia  cried.  They  had 
now  reached  the  porch.  Porter  had  retired,  and  so 
they  passed  on  unnoticed  to  Mrs.  Porter's  room. 

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Cynthia  helped  her  mother  undress  and  get  into 
the  bed,  and  then  she  went  to  her  own  room  and 
sat  down,  irresolutely,  at  her  table.  She  leaned  her 
head  on  her  crossed  arms  and  remained  quite  still. 
She  was  very  tired  in  brain  and  body,  and  presently 
dropped  to  sleep.  She  slept  for  about  two  hours. 
Suddenly  she  waked  with  a  start.  The  clock  in  the 
sitting-room  was  striking  ten.  Nelson  would  be  at 
the  grape-arbor  soon,  she  told  herself  with  a  shudder. 
Perhaps  he  was  already  there,  and  too  cautious  to 
whistle  as  on  former  meetings.  She  stood  up,  tip 
toed  to  the  closet,  and  opened  the  door.  She  un 
covered  the  hidden  valise  and  lifted  it  out  into  the 
light.  Then  a  recollection  of  her  mother's  strange 
condition  struck  her  like  a  blow  in  the  face,  and, 
standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  she  sighed. 

Just  then  she  heard  the  tread  of  bare  feet  in  the 
hall,  and  a  low -mumbled  monologue.  Her  heart 
stood  still,  for  she  recognized  her  mother's  voice. 
Going  softly  to  the  door,  she  peered  out,  and  there, 
in  a  thin,  white  dress,  stood  Mrs.  Porter,  Nathan's 
double-barrelled  shot-gun  clutched  in  her  hand,  her 
long  hair  hanging  loose  on  her  back.  The  old  wom 
an's  face  was  averted,  and  she  seemed  unaware  of 
her  daughter's  presence. 

"  Lord,  my  God,  pardon  me  for  this  last  act,"  she 
was  praying.  "  It  may  be  a  sin  in  Thy  sight  for  a 
tortured  person  to  seek  escape  from  trouble  by  this 
course,  but  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer." 

"Mother,  what  is  this?"  Cynthia  darted  out  into 
the  hall  and  snatched  the  gun  from  her  mother's 
hands. 

For  an  instant  Mrs.  Porter  stood  staring  at  her 
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Pole     Baker 

daughter,  and  then,  as  if  to  escape  her  glance,  she 
turned  and  went  slowly  into  Cynthia's  room. 

"  Sh!"  she  said ;  " don't  wake  your  pa."  And,  see 
ing  Cynthia's  lamp  burning  low,  she  blew  down  the 
chimney  and  put  it  out.  The  room  was  now  dark 
save  for  the  moonlight  that  struggled  in  at  the  win 
dows  on  each  side  of  the  drawn  shades. 

"Mother,  you've  got  to  tell  me,"  Cynthia  de 
manded,  as  she  leaned  the  cumbersome  weapon 
against  the  wall  and  groped  towards  the  still,  white 
figure;  "what  were  you  going  to  do  with  that  gun?" 

Mrs.  Porter  said  nothing,  but  moved  backward  to 
Cynthia's  bed  and,  with  a  groan,  sat  down  on  it. 

"Mother" — Cynthia  leaned  over  her,  a  horrible 
fear  gripping  her  heart-cords — "  what  were  you  about 
to  do?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  am  obliged  to  tell  you  or 
anybody,"  Mrs.  Porter  said,  doggedly. 

"  Mother  " — Cynthia  sat  down  by  the  old  woman 
and  put  her  arm  about  the  gaunt  figure — ' '  what  were 
you  going  to  do?" 

"  I  was  going  to  get  out  of  my  trouble,  if  you  will 
know,"  Mrs.  Porter  said,  looking  her  daughter  de 
fiantly  in  the  face. 

"Your  trouble,  mother?" 

"Yes,  I've  borne  it  as  long  as  I  can.  Huh!  you 
can't  guess  how  much  I  know.  I  was  awake  last 
Friday  night  and  overheard  your  plan  to  run  off  with 
Nelson  Floyd.  I  was  in  a  yard  of  you,  crouched 
down  behind  the  rose-bushes.  You  said  you'd  de 
cide  by  to  -  night,  and  ever  since  then  I've  been 
tortured  like  a  condemned  soul.  That's  what  af 
fected  my  brain  to-day.  It  wasn't  the  sun.  Since 

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that  awful  hour  I  have  been  praying  God  to  spare 
you — to  have  mercy  on  my  misguided  child,  and  I 
hoped  He  would  do  it,  but  to-night,  while  you  were 
putting  the  dishes  away,  I  came  in  here  and  saw 
your  packed  valise,  and  knew  you  had  concluded  to 
leave.  Then — then  I  decided  to — to  go  like  Sister 
Martha  did.  I  was  going  out  in  the  meadow,  by 
the  creek,  where  it  was  quiet.  I  couldn't  bear  the 
thought  of  having  to  face  all  those  curious  people 
who  will  throng  the  house  to-morrow  to  find  out 
about  your  disgrace." 

"You  say  you  were  there?"  Cynthia  gasped — 
44  you  heard?" 

"•Every  word,"  answered  Mrs.  Porter;  "and  every 
one  was  a  rusty  nail  in  my  heart." 

There  was  silence.  Cynthia  had  no  defence  to 
offer.  She  simply  sat  with  bowed  head,  her  arm 
lying  limp  upon  her  mother's  thinly  clad  shoulders.' 

"Yes,  you  made  up  your  mind  to  stain  forever 
our  family  record.  No  other  girl  that  I  ever  heard 
of,  even  among  our  far-off  kin,  ever  threw  away  her 
honor  as  you — 

"Stop,  mother,  you  are  going  too  far!"  Cynthia 
cried,  removing  her  arm  and  standing  erect  before 
the  old  woman. 

4 'Cynthia,  my  poor,  poor  baby!  in  all  that  man 
said  the  other  night  he  didn't  once  mention  mar 
riage. 

44  But  he  meant  it,  mother!"  broke  from  the  girl's 
pallid  lips — 44  he  meant  it!" 

44  He  didn't  mean  anything  of  the  kind,  you  little 
fool!  As  plain  as  plain  could  be,  he  said,  right  out, 
that  he  had  no  name  to  give  you.  And  any  fool 

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knows  no  marriage  can  be  legal  unless  it  is  brought 
about  under  the  lawful  names  of  the  contracting 
parties.  He  simply  was  trying  to  give  you  to 
understand  that  he  wanted  you  as  a  companion  in 
his  sin  and  misery.  He  has  lost  his  right  to  a  foot 
hold  in  society,  and  he  wants  you,  of  your  own  ac 
cord  and  free  will,  to  renounce  yours.  It  was  a 
crazy  idea,  and  one  that  could  have  come  from 
none  but  a  brain  disordered  by  liquor,  but  that  is 
what  he  had  in  view." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  Cynthia  said,  firmly. 

"  It  doesn't  make  any  difference  what  you"  be 
lieve,"  Mrs.  Porter  returned.  "  I'm  older  than  you, 
and  I  see  through  him.  He  tried  and  tried  to  ruin 
you  as  he  did  Minnie  Wade,  but  when  he  was  re 
duced  to  despair  by  his  trouble  he  rose  from  his 
debauch  and  wanted  to  turn  his  very  misfortune  to 
your  undoing.  The  idiot  was  trying  to  make  him 
self  believe,  because  his  parents  had  brought  all  that 
nastiness  down  on  him,  that  he  would  be  justified 
in  a  like  course.  The  disgrace  he  had  inherited  he 
intended  to  hand  down  to  another  generation,  and 
you — you  poor,  simple  thing! — you  calmly  packed 
your  white,  unspotted  things  and  were  ready  to  sell 
yourself  to  his  hellish  purpose." 

There  was  awful  silence.  Cynthia  stared,  unable 
to  utter  a  word.  She  may  have  doubted  the  fairness 
of  her  mother's  version,  but  the  grim  picture  painted 
there  in  the  darkness  by  a  woman  in  seeming  readi 
ness  to  take  her  own  life  on  account  of  it  fairly 
chilled  her  young  life's  blood.  Suddenly  a  sound 
broke  the  outside  stillness.  There  was  no  mistak 
ing  it.  It  rang  out  as  shrilly  on  the  girl's  quaking 

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Pole    Baker 

consciousness  as  the  shriek  of  a  locomotive  dashing 
through  a  mountain  gorge. 

"There  he  is  now,"  said  Mrs.  Porter.  "Pick  up 
your  valise  and  hurry,  hurry  to  him ;  but  before  you 
go  hand  me  that  gun.  Before  you  and  he  get  in 
that  buggy  you'll  hear  my  death-knell,  and  you  may 
know,  too,  that  you  fired  the  shot  into  the  withered 
breast  that  nursed  you.  Go !  I  'm  not  keeping  you !" 

Cynthia  swayed  visibly  in  the  darkness,  and  then 
she  sank  to  her  knees  and  put  her  head  in  her 
mother's  lap. 

"I  won't  go,"  she  groaned,  softly.  "Mother,  I'll 
do  anything  you  say — anything!" 

"Now  you  are  joking,  I  know,"  Mrs.  Porter  said, 
harshly. 

"No,  I  mean  it — God  knows  I  mean  it,  mother! 
Only  give  me  a  chance  to  prove  that  I  mean  it. 
I'll  never  see  him  again,  if  that  will  suit  you — never 
on  earth!  I'll  stay  and  nurse  you  and  make  you 
well." 

"If  I  thought  you  meant  that,  Cynthia — Lord, 
Lord,  what  a  load  it  would  take  off  of  me!  Don't — 
don't  say  that  unless  you  mean  it;  the — the  joy  of 
saving  you  would  almost  kill  me." 

"Oh,  mother,  God  knows  I  mean  it!" 

"Then" — Mrs.  Porter  seemed  to  squeeze  her 
words  from  her  frail  body  as  she  stiffly  rose  to  her 
feet — "then  you  must  let  me  go,  myself,  out  there 
and  send  him  off." 

Cynthia,  still  on  her  knees,  glanced  up,  her  startled 
eyes  wide  open. 

"Would  you  ask  that,  mother?" 

"Yes,  for  in  my  present  condition  I'm  afraid  I'd 
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Pole    Baker 

never  believe  it  was  absolutely  settled.  I — I'm  not 
as  clear-headed  as  I  used  to  be.  I've  got  deep- 
rooted  suspicions,  and  I'm  afraid  they  would  prey 
on  my  mind." 

"Then  go,  mother  —  go  send  him  away.  I'd 
rather  never  see  him  again  on  earth  than  to  cause 
you  to — to  contemplate — but  go,  mother!" 

"Well,  you  stay  here  "then."  Mrs.  Porter  was 
moving  towards  the  door.  "I'll  be  easy  with  him. 
I'm  so  happy  over  this  release  that  I  feel  grateful 
even  to  him.  I'll  be  gentle,  Cynthia." 

As  she  stood  in  the  door-way  of  the  chamber  and 
glanced  back,  Mrs.  Porter  saw  Cynthia  throw  her 
self  face  downward  on  the  bed.  The  old  woman  was 
in  the  hall  making  her  way  towards  the  front-door 
when  she  heard  Cynthia  call  her.  Retracing  her 
steps,  she  found  her  daughter  sitting  up. 

"Mother,"  the  girl  said,  "let  me  go  with  you. 
You  can  hear  all  that  passes  between  us.  That 
ought  to  be  satisfactory." 

"  No,  that  won't  suit  me,"  Mrs.  Porter  said,  firmly. 
"I've  set  my  heart  on  your  never  facing  that  man 
again.  For  you  to  go,  it  would  look  like  you  are 
crazy  after  him,  and  he'd  hang  around  here  no 
telling  how  long." 

"Then  go  on,  mother."  Cynthia  fell  back  on  the 
bed,  and,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  lay  still. 


XXXV 

{S  Mrs.  Porter  stepped  down  into  the 
yard  the  whippoorwill  call  sounded 
again.  "Huh!"  she  said  to  herself, 
exultingly,  "I  reckon  I'll  reach  there 
soon  enough  to  suit  you,  Nelson  Floyd. 
You  wanted  to  get  her  away  from  her  mother's 
tongue,  did  you?  Well,  you'll  find  that  I'm  no 
fool,  if  I  am  old." 

As  she  emerged  from  the  shade  of  the  apple- 
trees  into  the  little  open  in  front  of  the  grape-arbor, 
Nelson  Floyd,  the  red,  impatient  flare  of  a  cigar  in 
his  face,  appeared  in  the  door-way. 

"Thank  God  you  didn't  fail  me!"  he  exclaimed, 
in  accents  of  vast  relief.  "  For  a  while  I  was  actually 
afraid—" 

"Afraid  that  I  wouldn't  be  on  time!"  Mrs.  Porter 
broke  in,  with  a  metallic  little  laugh.  "  I  always 
keep  my  engagements,  Nelson  Floyd  —  or,  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Cynthia  says  you  don't  call  yourself 
by  that  name  now." 

"Great  God,  it's  you!"  he  exclaimed,  and  his 
cigar  fell  at  his  feet.  "Why,  Mrs.  Porter— 

"Oh,  we  needn't  stand  here  and  take  up  time 
talking  about  whether  it's  going  to  rain  or  not,"  she 
sneered.  "The  truth  is,  I'm  due  in  bed.  I've  been 
asleep  in  my  chair  half  a  dozen  times  since  supper. 


Pole     Baker 

You  see,  I  promised  Cynthia  that  I'd  keep  this  ap 
pointment  for  her,  and  she  tumbled  into  bed,  and  is 
snoozing  along  at  a  great  rate,  while  I  am  doing  her 
work." 

"You — you  promised — I — I — don't  understand," 
Floyd  managed  to  get  out  of  the  chaos  of  his 
brain. 

"Oh,  I  reckon  you  don't  see  it  exactly  our  way," 
Mrs.  Porter  sneered.  "And  that's  because  of  your 
high  opinion  of  your  own  charm.  There  is  nothing 
on  earth  that  will  lead  a  man  from  the  road  of  fact 
as  quick  as  vanity.  You  thought  my  girl  would 
jump  at  your  proposition,  but,  la  me!  she  just  dallied 
with  you  to  get  you  away  last  Friday  night.  At 
least,  that's  what  I  think,  for  she  brought  the  whole 
thing  to  me  the  next  morning,  even  telling  me  how 
you  abused  me  behind  my  back.  She  asked  me 
how  she'd  better  get  out  of  it.  Most  girls  plunge 
headlong  into  things  of  this  kind  without  delibera 
tion,  but  she's  not  that  way.  She  generally  looks 
ahead,  and  the  truth  is,  if  I  may  tell  state  secrets, 
she  has  a  strong  leaning  towards  Brother  Hillhouse. 
He's  a  good  man — a  man  that  can  be  counted  on — 
and  a  man  with  a  respectable  family  behind  him, 
and,  while  I'm  not  sure  about  it,  I  think  she  in 
tends  to  accept  him." 

"Great  God,  Mrs.  Porter,  you  don't  mean  that 
she—" 

"You  see  there!  I  knew  you  were  incapable  of 
seeing  anything  that  don't  tend  to  your  own  glory. 
You  thought  all  along  that  my  girl  was  crazy  about 
you,  but  you  didn't  know  her.  She's  no  fool.  She's 
got  a  long  head  on  her  shoulders." 

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"But  didn't  she — she  send  me  any  message?" 
Floyd  asked,  in  a  tone  of  abject  bewilderment. 

"Oh  yes,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  she  did.  She 
said  for  me  to  beg  you  never  to  bother  her  any  more." 

" She  said  that?     Oh,  Mrs.  Porter,  I—" 

"Yes,  and  just  as  she  was  cuddling  up  in  bed  " — 
Mrs.  Porter's  selection  of  words  had  never  been  so 
adroit — -"she  called  me  to  her  and  said  that  she 
wondered  if  you  would  mind  never  telling  how 
foolish  she  had  been  to  meet  you  out  here  like  she 
did.  I  don't  know  why  she  was  so  particular,  unless 
it  is  that  people  in  this  day  and  time  love  to  throw 
up  to  a  preacher's  wife  all  the  imprudent  things  she 
did  when  she  was  young." 

"  Mrs.  Porter,  do  you  actually  think  Cynthia  loves 
that  man?"  Floyd's  voice  shook,  and  he  leaned 
heavily  against  the  frame  of  the  arbor. 

"  Love  him  ?  How  .  can  anybody  tell  who  a 
woman  loves?  They  don't  know  themselves  half 
the  time;  but  I'll  say  this  to  you:  Mr.  Hillhouse  has 
been  courting  her  in  an  open,  straightforward  way, 
and  that  pleased  her.  He's  a  man  of  brains,  too, 
and  is  going  to  work  his  way  high  up  in  his  profession. 
He'll  be  a  great  light  some  day.  The  regard  of  a 
man  like  that  is  a  compliment  to  a  poor  country 
girl;  and  then  she  is  sure  of  a  life  of  solid  respect 
ability,  while  with  you — good  gracious!  What's  the 
use  of  talking  about  it?  But  you  haven't  told 
me  whether  you  will  agree  not  to  bother  her  again. 
She'll  be  anxious  to  know  what  you  said  about  that. 
You  see,  you  might  get  drunk  again,  and  there  is  no 
telling  how  foolish  and  persistent  you  may  become, 
and—" 

297 


Pole     Baker 

"  I  shall  not  bother  her  again,"  said  Floyd.  "Tell 
her  I  gave  you  my  faithful  promise  on  that.  Not 
only  that,  but  I  am  going  away,  and  shall  never 
come  back  here  again." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  her— I'll  tell  her  in  the  morning  as 
soon  as  she  wakes  up.  La  me!  I  used  to  be  a  girl 
myself,  and  there  was  no  bother  equal  to  having 
an  old  beau  hanging  around,  as  we  girls  used  to  say 
in  slang,  after  he'd  got  his  '  walking  papers' — that  is, 
after  the  right  man  was  settled  on." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  want  you  to  tell  her  " — Floyd 
breathed  heavily — "and  that  is  that  I'll  never  care 
for  any  other  girl." 

"Shucks!  I  won't  take  any  such  message  as 
that,"  the  old  woman  sniffed.  "Besides,  what's 
the  use  ?  After  a  flirtation  is  laid  away  it  ought  to 
die  a  natural  death.  The  biggest  wasters  of  time 
in  the  worlcj  are  married  women  who  love  to  look 
back  on  old  love-scrapes,  and  sit  and  brag  about 
them,  instead  of  mending  socks  and  attending  to  the 
responsibilities  that  are  piled  up  on  every  hand. 
Well,  I'm  going  in  now.  It's  been  a  long,  hot  day, 
but  in  this  thin  dress  I  feel  chilly.  I  don't  want  to 
be  hard  on  you,  and  I  wish  you  well,  so  I  do,  where- 
ever  you  go." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Porter,"  and,  with  his  head 
hanging  low,  Nelson  Floyd  turned  to  leave.  "  I 
can  only  assure  you,"  he  added,  "that  I'll  never 
trouble  Cynthia  any  more.  I  shall  certainly  respect 
her  wish." 

"All  right;  that's  as  much  as  she  could  ask  of 
you,"  the  old  woman  returned;  "and  perhaps,  since 
you  are  so  polite,  I  ought  to  thank  you." 

298 


Pole    Baker 

As  she  was  drawing  near  the  house,  she  said  to 
herself  with  a  low,  satisfied  chuckle:  "I  believe  I 
worked  him  exactly  right.  If  I'd  'a'  let  him  know 
I  suspected  his  full  villany  he  wouldn't  have  been 
shaken  off  so  easily.  But  what  am  I  going  to  do 
about  that  drop  of  blood  on  my  brain?"  she  laughed. 
"  If  I  get  rid  of  it  too  suddenly  Cynthia  may  smell 
a  mouse.  I  believe  I'll  wait  a  few  days  and  then 
tell  her  I  think  my  stroke  was  due  to  that  new  hair- 
restorer  I'm  using,  an'  promise  to  throw  it  away." 
She  paused  at  the  steps  and  shuddered.  "But  am 
I  not  really  a  little  off?"  she  mused.  "Surely  no 
woman  in  the  full  possession  of  her  senses  could 
have  gone  through  all  that,  as  if  it  were  God's  truth 
from  beginning  to  end." 

Inside  the  hall,  after  she  had  softly  shut  the  front 
door,  she  saw  Cynthia  standing  on  the  threshold  of 
her  chamber. 

"Did  you  see  him,  mother?"  The  question  was 
hardly  above  a  whisper. 

"Oh  yes,  I  saw  him,"  the  old  woman  answered, 
frigidly.  "I  saw  him." 

"  What  did  he  say,  mother?"  The  girl's  voice  was 
low,  tremulous,  and  halting. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  as  he  said  much  of  anything, 
he  was  so  set  back  by  seeing  me  in  this  outfit  in 
stead  of  you  in  your  best  Sunday-go-to-meeting,  with 
your  valise  in  hand,  ready  to  fly  to  the  moon  with 
him.  He  let  me  do  most  of  the  talking."  Mrs. 
Porter  managed  to  stifle  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction, 
and  the  darkness  hid  her  impulsive  smile.  "He 
seemed  to  be  more  reasonable,  though,  than  most 
men  would  be  in  his  condition.  I  don't  think  he 

299 


Pole    Baker 

was  fully  sober;  he  smoked  like  a  steam-engine, 
dropping  cigars  and  lighting  fresh  ones,  as  if  they 
were  his  main-stay  and  support.  He  agreed  with 
me,  in  a  roundabout  way,  that  it  was  a  foolish 
thing  for  him  to  expect  a  respectable  girl  to  run  off 
in  the  dead  of  night  with  a  man  of  his  stamp,  and 
he  ended  by  saying  for  me  to  tell  you  that  he  was 
going  away  off  somewhere  and  that  he  wouldn't 
bother  you  any  more.  He  looked  and  acted  like  a 
thief  caught  on  the  spot  with  the  goods  in  hand  and 
was  ready  to  promise  anything  to  escape  arrest  and 
prosecution." 

"Well,  you  have  had  your  way,  mother,"  Cynthia 
said,  quietly;  "I  hope  you  will  feel  better  satisfied 
now." 

"Oh,  I  will,  I  will — in  fact,  I  feel  some  better 
already."  There  was  another  incipient  chuckle  far 
down  in  Mrs.  Porter's  throat,  but  she  coughed  it 
away.  "  I  really  feel  like  I'm  going  to  get  well.  I'll 
sleep  like  a  log  to-night.  You'd  better  turn  in 
yourself,  daughter." 

"All  right,  mother — good-night." 

The  next  morning,  shortly  after  breakfast,  as 
Mrs.  Porter  was  attending  to  some  hens'  nests  in  the 
barn-yard,  Hillhouse  crept  out  of  the  thicket  just 
beyond  the  fence  and  approached  her.  He  was  quite 
pale  and  nervous,  and  bent  his  head  and  shoulders 
that  the  high  staked-and-ridered  rail-fence  might 
hide  him  from  the  view  of  the  house. 

"  I've  been  out  here  in  the  woods  for  an  hour 
watching  your  back-door,"  he  said.  "  I  was  in  hopes 
that  I'd  see  Cynthia  moving  about  in  the  dining- 

300 


Pole     Baker 

room  or  kitchen.  You  see,  I  don't  know  yet 
whether  she  went  off  last  night  or  stayed.  I 
haven't  closed  my  eyes  since  I  saw  you." 

"Well,  you  have  got  it  bad,"  Mrs.  Porter  laughed, 
dryly,  "and  you  needn't  worry  any  more.  I  reckon 
I  spilled  ink  all  over  my  record  in  the  Lamb's  Book 
of  Life,  but  I  set  in  to  succeed,  and  I  worked  it  so 
fine  that  she  let  me  go  out  and  send  him  away  for 
good  and  all." 

"Oh,  Sister  Porter,  is  that  true?" 

"  It's  a  great  deal  truer  than  anything  that  passed 
my  lips  last  night,"  Mrs.  Porter  answered,  crisply. 
"  Brother  Hillhouse,  if  I  ever  get  forgiveness,  there 
is  one  of  the  commandments  that  will  have  to  be 
cut  out  of  the  list,  for  I  certainly  broke  it  all  to 
smash.  I  had  a  separate  lie  stowed  away  in  every 
pore  of  my  skin  last  night,  and  they  hung  like 
cockle-burs  to  every  hair  of  my  head.  I  wish  I 
was  a  Catholic." 

"A  Catholic?"  Hillhouse  repeated,  his  eyes  danc 
ing  in  delight,  his  sallow  skin  taking  on  color. 

"Yes,  I'd  sell  our  horses  and  cows  and  land,  and 
give  it  to  a  priest,  and  tell  him  to  wipe  my  soul  clean 
with  the  proceeds.  I  feel  happy,  and  I  feel  mean. 
Something  tells  me  that  I'd  have  made  an  expert 
woman  thief — perhaps  the  greatest  in  the  history  of 
all  nations." 

"What  sort  of  fibs  did  you  tell,  Sister  Porter?" 
Hillhouse  was  smiling  unctuously  and  rubbing  his 
long  hands  together. 

"Well,  I  don't  intend  to  tell  you,"  said  the  old 
woman ;  "  besides,  it  would  take  a  week.  I  spun  the 
finest  fabric  of  falsehood  that  was  ever  made. 

301 


Pole    Baker 

And  I'm  not  done  yet,  for  I've  got  to  keep  it  up, 
and  not  let  it  lop  off  too  suddenly." 

"Well,  do  you  think  there  will  be  any  living 
chance  for  me?"  the  preacher  said. 

"Yes,  I  do — that  is,  if  you  won't  push  matters  too 
fast  and  will  be  patient.  I  have  a  plan  now  that 
you  will  like.  Didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  going  to 
preach  two  sermons  this  month  at  Carters ville?" 

"Yes,  I  take  Brother  Johnston's  place  for  two 
weeks  while  he  goes  off  for  his  vacation." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  "you  know  Nathan's 
brother  George  lives  there.  In  fact,  his  wife  and 
daughters  belong  to  Mr.  Johnston's  church.  George 
is  a  well-to-do  lawyer,  and  his  children  dote  on 
Cynthia;  now  I'm  going  to  send  her  down  there  for 
a  change." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  simply  fine!"  Hillhouse  cried, 
his  face  aglow. 

"Yes,  and  if  you  can't  make  hay  while  the  sun 
shines  down  there,  you'll  deserve  to  fail.  Cynthia 
has  promised  to  give  Floyd  up,  and  he's  agreed  not 
to  bother  her  any  more.  Now  you  slip  back  into 
the  woods.  I  wouldn't  have  her  see  you  here  at 
this  time  of  day  for  anything.  When  she  gets  her 
thinking  apparatus  to  work  she's  going  to  do  a  lot 
of  wondering,  anyway." 


XXXVI 

:EN  days  passed.  It  was  now  towards 
the  close  of  a  hot  and  sultry  August. 
Nothing  more  had  been  heard  of  Nel 
son  Floyd,  and  the  sensation  due  to  his 
mysterious  absence  had,  to  some  extent, 
subsided.  That  Mayhew  knew  of  his  whereabouts 
few  persons  doubted,  for  it  was  noticeable  that  the 
old  man  had  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel  and  was 
attending  to  business  with  less  fear  and  nervousness. 
It  was  the  opinion  of  Mrs.  Snodgrass  that  he  knew 
exactly  where  Floyd  was,  and  expected  him  to  re 
turn  sooner  or  later.  In  fact,  it  was  known  to  many 
that  Mayhew  had  suddenly  ceased  to  make  inquiry 
through  detectives  and  the  police,  and  that  meant 
something.  The  information  that  Floyd  had  been 
back  in  secret  to  his  home  would  have  startled  the 
community  from  centre  to  outer  edge,  but  that  was 
discreetly  kept  to  themselves  by  the  few  who  knew 
of  it. 

Pole  Baker  was  the  first  to  meet  Floyd  again. 
It  was  in  Atlanta.  Standing  in  the  main  entrance 
of  the  Kimball  House  one  afternoon,  Pole  saw  Floyd 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  He  was  walking 
rapidly,  his  head  up.  He  was  neatly  dressed,  clean 
shaven,  and  had  a  clear,  healthful  complexion,  as 
if  he  were  in  good  physical  condition. 

303 


Pole    Baker 

"Thank  God!  thar  he  goes,"  Pole  exclaimed,  "an' 
I'll  bet  a  hoss  he's  quit  drinkin'."  Quickly  darting 
across  the  street,  he  followed  Floyd  the  best  he 
could  on  the  crowded  sidewalk.  He  had  pursued 
him  thus  for  several  blocks  when  Floyd  suddenly 
entered  one  of  the  large  wholesale  dry-goods  stores. 
Reaching  the  door  and  looking  in,  Pole  saw  his 
friend  just  disappearing  in  the  glass-enclosed  office 
in  the  rear  of  the  big  room.  Pole  entered  and  stood 
waiting  amid  the  stacks  of  cotton  and  woollen 
goods  which,  in  rolls  and  bolts,  were  heaped  as  high 
as  his  shoulders  over  the  whole  floor.  Salesmen  were 
busy  with  customers  in  different  parts  of  the  room, 
and  porters  and  "stock  men"  hurried  by  with  big 
baskets  on  wheels,  and  little  notice  was  taken  of  the 
mountaineer. 

Presently  Floyd  emerged  and  came  rapidly  down 
one  of  the  aisles  towards  the  door.  Pole  stepped 
directly  in  front  of  him. 

"Why,  helfo!"  Floyd  exclaimed,  flushing  sudden 
ly  as  he  cordially  extended  his  hand.  "  I  wasn't 
looking  for  you,  Pole." 

"Well,  you  differ  from  me,"  said  Baker;  "that's 
just  what  I  was  doin'.  I  was  lookin'  fer  you,  Nel 
son.  I  begun  yesterday  an'  kept  it  up  till  I  seed 
you  go  by  the  Kimball  jest  now  like  you  was  shot  out 
of  a  gun,  an'  I  bent  to  the  trail,  an'  here  I  am.  Yes, 
I  want  to  see  you.  I've  got  a  favor  to  ax,  old 
friend." 

"Well,  you  can  have  anything  I've  got."  Floyd 
smiled  rather  sheepishly  as  he  laid  his  hand  on 
Pole's  shoulder.  "The  only  trouble  right  now  is 
that  I'm  pressed  for  time.  A  lot  depends  on  what 

3°4 


Pole     Baker 

may  take  place  in  the  next  two  hours,  and  I'm 
afraid  to  think  of  anything  else.  When  do  you  go 
back?" 

"jOh,  I  kin  take  a  train  any  time.  I'm  in  no  big 
hurry,  Nelson.  All  I  want  is  to  get  to  talk  to  you 
a  few  minutes." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,"  Floyd  proposed. 
"Take  this  key  to  my  room  at  the  Kimball  House. 
I've  got  a  bed  to  spare  up  there.  And,  more  than 
that,  Pole,  go  in  and  take  your  supper  in  my  place. 
It  will  be  all  right.  I  registered  on  the  American 
plan.  Then  I'll  meet  you  in  the  room  about  eight 
o'clock.  You  see,  it's  this  way:  I've  brought  a 
fellow  with  me  from  Birmingham,  and  he's  back 
there  in  the  office  now.  He  and  I  are  on  a  trade  for 
all  my  iron  lands  in  Alabama.  A  thing  like  this  is 
a  big,  exciting  game  with  me;  it  drives  out  all 
other  thoughts,  and,  the  Lord  knows,  right  now  I 
need  some  diversion.  He  and  I  are  going  to  the 
house  of  a  friend  of  his  in  the  country  and  take 
early  supper  there.  I'll  be  back  by  eight,  sure, 
Pole." 

"That  '11  suit  me  all  right,"  said  Pole,  as  he  took 
the  key  and  looked  at  the  number  on  the  brass  tag. 
"I'll  be  there,  Nelson.  I  wouldn't  let  you  stand 
for  my  expenses,  but  if  your  bill's  paid  anyway, 
that's  different." 

"Yes,  it  won't  cost  me  a  cent  extra,"  said  Floyd. 
"  Here  comes  my  man  now.  I'd  introduce  you,  but 
we  are  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry." 

"  Are  you  ready?"  a  middle-aged  man  in  a  linen 
suit  and  straw  hat  asked,  as  he  walked  up  hastily. 
"I'll  make  the  driver  strike  a  brisk  gait." 

305 


Pole    Baker 

"Yes,  I'm  ready,"  Floyd  said,  and  he  turned  to 
Baker.  "Don't  forget,  Pole."  As  he  was  walking 
away,  he  threw  back:  "I'll  meet  you  at  eight  or 
before,  sure.  I  don't  want  to  miss  you." 


XXXVII 

IJHAT  night,  after  supper,  Pole  was  in 
Floyd's  room  at  the  hotel.  The  weath- 
er  being  warm,  he  had  raised  the  win- 
!dow,  which  opened  on  a  busy  street, 
and  sat  smoking,  with  his  coat  off. 
From  the  outside  came  the  clanging  of  street-car 
bells  and  the  shrill  voices  of  newsboys  crying  the 
afternoon  papers.  Suddenly  he  heard  the  iron  door 
of  the  elevator  slide  back,  and  a  moment  later  Floyd 
stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  room. 

"Well,  I  succeeded,  Pole!"  he  cried,  sitting  down 
on  the  window-sill  and  fanning  himself  with  his 
straw  hat.  "  I  sold  out,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel,  and 
at  an  advance  that  I  never  would  have  dreamed  of 
asking  if  I  hadn't  been  in  a  reckless  mood.  Really, 
I  didn't  know  the  property  was  so  valuable.  My 
man  kept  hanging  onto  me,  following  me  from  place 
to  place,  wanting  to  know  what  I'd  take,  till  finally, 
simply  to  get  rid  of  him,  I  priced  the  property  at 
three  times  what  I  had  ever  asked  for  it.  To  mv 
astonishment,  he  said  he  would  come  over  to  Atlanta 
with  me,  and  if  certain  friends  of  his  would  help  him 
carry  it  he  would  trade.  Pole,  my  boy,  I've  made 
more  money  to-day  than  I've  made  all  the  rest  of 
my  life  put  together,  and"  -Floyd  sighed  as  he 
tossed  his  hat  on  one  of  the  beds  and  locked  his 

307 


Pole    Baker 

hands  behind  his  neck — "  I  reckon  I  care  less  for 
material  prosperity  than  I  ever  did." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  made  a  good  trade,"  Pole 
said.  "You  were  born  lucky,  my  boy." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Floyd;  "but  here 
I  am  talking  about  my  own  affairs  when  you  came 
to  see  me  about  yours.  What  can  I  do  for  you, 
Pole?  If  it's  money  you  want,  you  certainly  came 
to  headquarters,  and  you  can  get  all  you  want  and 
no  questions  asked." 

"  I  didn't  come  to  see  you  on  my  own  business, 
Nelson,"  Pole  answered.  "I'm  here  on  account  of 
old  man  May  hew.  Nelson,  he's  mighty  nigh  plumb 
crazy  over  you  bein'  away.  He  can't  run  that 
thing  up  thar  single-handed;  he's  leaned  too  long 
on  you  fer  that,  an'  then  he's  gittin'  old  and  sorter 
childish.  I  never  knowed  it  before,  Nelson,  but  he 
looks  on  you  sorter  like  a  son.  The  old  fellow's 
eyes  got  full  an'  he  choked  up  when  he  was  beggin' 
me  to  come  down  here  an'  see  you.  He  gathered 
from  yore  last  letter  that  you  intended  to  go  West 
and  live,  an'  he  called  me  in  an'  begged  me  to  come 
and  persuade  you  not  to  do  it.  Nelson,  I'll  hate  it 
like  rips,  too,  ef  you  leave  us.  Them  old  mountains 
is  yore  rightful  home,  an'  I'm  here  to  tell  you  that 
God  Almighty  never  give  any  one  man  more  friends 
than  you've  got  amongst  them  plain,  honest  folks. 
By  gum!  they  jest  stand  around  in  bunches  an' 
talk  an'  talk  about  you  an' — an'  yore — late  trouble. 
Thar  ain't  one  in  the  lot  but  what  'ud  be  glad  to 
help  you  bear  it." 

Floyd  stood  up  suddenly,  and,  with  his  hands  behind 
him,  he  began  to  walk  back  and  forth  across  the  room. 

308 


Pole    Baker 

"  It's  the  only  spot  on  earth  I'll  ever  care  about," 
Pole  heard  him  say  in  a  deep,  husky  voice,  "and 
God  knows  I  love  the  people;  but  I  don't  want  to 
go  back,  Pole.  Fate  rather  rubbed  it  in  on  me  up 
there.  All  my  early  life  I  nursed  the  hope  that  I 
would  eventually  be  able  to  prove  that  my  parents 
were  good,  respectable  people,  and  then  when  I  was 
beginning  to  despair  it  went  out  that  I  belonged  to  a 
great  and  high  family,  and  the  aristocracy  of  the 
section  extended  their  hands  and  congratulated  me 
and  patted  me  on  the  back.  But  that  wasn't  for 
long.  My  guardian  angel — my  old  stand-by,  Pole — 
came  to  me  with  a  malignant  grin  and  handed  me 
the  information  that  I  was — was  what  you  couldn't 
call  the  humblest  man  you  know  up  there  and  live 
a  minute  later." 

"I  know  —  I  know,  Nelson,"  sighed  Pole,  his 
honest  face  tortured  by  inward  sympathy.  "  I  see 
you've  got  a  big,  big  argument  in  favor  o'  the  step 
you  are  thinking  about,  but  I  want  to  see  if  I  can't 
put  it  to  you  in  another  light.  Listen  to  me,  my 
boy.  Different  men  suffer  in  different  ways.  Maybe 
you  don't  think  I've  suffered  any  to  speak  of.  But, 
my  boy,  when  I  was  tried  by  my  peers  up  thar, 
in  the  open  court  of  God's  soft  starlight — when  my 
neighbors,  well-meanin',  fair-thinkin'  folks,  come  to 
me  in  the  night-time  an'  called  me  out  to  lay  the 
lash  on  my  bare  back  fer  wilful  neglect  o'  them  that 
was  dear  an'  true  to  me,  all — all,  I  say — that  was 
wuth  a  tinker's  damn  in  me  sunk  down,  down  into 
the  bottomless  pit  o'  hell.  I  thought  about  shirkin', 
about  pullin'  up  stakes  an'  goin'  away  off  some'rs  to 
begin  new,  but  I  seed  that  wouldn't  wipe  it  out  o' 

309 


Pole    Baker 

folks'  memories,  nor  out  o'  me,  and  so  I  decided  to 
stay  right  thar  an'  fight — fight  it  to  a  finish.  It  was 
awful  to  meet  them  men  in  the  light  o'  day  with 
the'r  masks  off,  an'  know  what  each  one  was  a-think- 
in',  but  I  went  through  it,  and,  thank  God,  I  begin 
to  see  light  ahead.  It  looks  like  they  understand 
my  struggle  an'  think  none  the  less  o'  me.  Lord, 
Lord,  ef  you  could  jest  witness  the  kind  words  an' 
gentle  ways  o'  them  men  towards  me  an'  mine  now, 
you'd  believe  what  preachers  say  about  the  spirit  o' 
God  dwellin'  in  every  man's  breast." 

Floyd  had  turned,  and  he  now  laid  a  sympathetic 
hand  on  Pole's  shoulder. 

"I  knew  what  you  were  going  through,"  he  said, 
"and  I  wanted  to  help  you,  but  didn't  know  how. 
Then  this  damned  thing  came  on  me  like  a  bolt  from 
a  clear  sky." 

"  Nelson,  listen  to  me.  I  am  here  to-night  to  beg 
you  to  do  like  I  done — to  come  back  to  yore  old 
home  and  meet  that  thing  face  to  face.  As  God 
is  my  judge,  I  believe  sech  great  big  troubles  as 
yore'n  are  laid  on  folks  fer  a  good  purpose.  Other 
men  have  gone  through  exactly  what  you've  had  to 
bear,  an'  lived  to  become  great  characters  in  the 
history  o'  the  world's  progress.  Nelson,  that's  the 
one  an'  only  thing  left  fer  you  to  do.  It's  hell,  but 
it  will  be  fer  yore  own  good  in  the  end.  Buck  up 
agin  it,  my  boy,  an'  what  seems  hard  now  will  look 
as  easy  after  a  while  as  fallin'  off  a  log." 

Floyd  turned  and  began  to  walk  back  and  forth 
again.  The  room  was  filled  with  silence.  Through 
the  open  window  came  the  sound  of  brass  musical 
instruments,  the  rattling  of  a  tambourine,  the  ring- 

310 


Pole     Baker 

ing  of  cymbals.  Then  a  clear  voice  —  that  of  a 
young  woman — rose  in  a  sacred  song.  It  was  a  band 
of  Salvationists  clustered  near  a  street  corner  under 
a  hanging  arc  light.  Floyd  paused  near  to  Pole  and 
looked  thoughtfully  from  the  window;  then  he  sat 
down  on  the  bed.  For  a  moment  he  stared  at  the 
floor,  and  then,  folding  his  arms  across  his  breast,  he 
suddenly  raised  his  head. 

"Pole,"  he  said,  firmly,  "I'm  going  to  take  your 
advice." 

There  was  silence.  The  two  men  sat  facing  each 
other.  Suddenly  the  mountaineer  leaned  over  and 
said:  "Give  me  your  hand  on  it,  Nelson.  You'll 
never  regret  this  as  long  as  you  live." 

Floyd  extended  his  hand  and  then  got  up  and 
began  to  walk  back  and  forth  across  the  room  again. 

"I've  got  another  trouble  to  bear,  Pole,"  he  said, 
gloomily. 

"You  say  you  have,  Nelson?" 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  worse  than  all.  Pole,  I've  lost  the 
love  of  the  only  woman  I  ever  really  cared  for." 

"You  mean  Cynthia  Porter?"  said  Pole,  and  he 
leaned  forward,  his  eyes  burning. 

Floyd  nodded,  took  one  or  two  steps,  and  then 
paused  near  to  Pole.  "  You  don't  know  it,  perhaps, 
but  I've  been  back  up  there  lately." 

"Oh  no!" 

"Yes,  I  went  back  to  see  her.  I  couldn't  stay 
away  from  her.  I  had  been  on  a  protracted  spree. 
I  was  on  the  brink  of  suicide,  in  a  disordered  condi 
tion  of  mind  and  body,  when  all  at  once  it  occurred 
to  me  that  perhaps  she  might  not  absolutely  scorn 
me.  Pole,  the  very  hope  that  she  might  be  willing 

311 


Pole     Baker 

to  share  my  misfortune  suddenly  sobered  me.  I 
was  in  an  awful  condition,  but  I  stopped  drinking 
and  went  up  there  one  night.  I  secretly  met  her 
and  proposed  an  elopement.  The  poor  little  girl 
was  so  excited  that  she  would  not  decide  then,  but 
she  agreed  to  give  me  her  final  decision  a  week 
later." 

"Great  God!  you  don't  mean  it,  Nelson!"  the 
mountaineer  cried  in  surprise — "  shorely  you  don't!" 

"Yes,  I  do.  Then  I  went  back  to  fill  the  appoint 
ment,  but  she  had  confided  it  all  to  her  mother,  and 
the  old  lady  came  out  and  told  me  that  Cynthia  not 
only  refused  me,  but  that  she  earnestly  hoped  I 
would  never  bother  her  again." 

"My  Lord!"  Pole  exclaimed;  "and  there  was  a 
time  when  I  actually  thought — but  that's  her  matter, 
Nelson.  A  man  hain't  got  no  right  on  earth  dabblin' 
in  a  woman's  heart  -  affairs.  To  me  nothin'  ain't 
more  sacred  than  a  woman's  choice  of  her  life- 
partner." 

"Mrs.  Porter  hinted  plainly  that  Cynthia  was 
thinking  of  marrying  Hillhouse,"  said  Floyd. 

"Ah,  now  I  begin  to  see  ahead!"  the  farmer  said, 
reflectively.  Cynthia's  down  at  Cartersville  now, 
on  a  visit  to  her  cousins,  and  the  long-legged  par 
son  is  there,  too,  filling  in  for  another  preacher.  I 
don't  pretend  to  understand  women,  Nelson.  Thar's 
been  a  lots  o'  talk  about  her  and  Hillhouse  since  you 
went  off.  I  axed  Sally  what  she  thought  about  it, 
an'  she  seemed  to  think  if  Cynthia  had  quit  thinkin' 
o'  you  it  was  due  to  the  reports  in  circulation  that 
you  had  started  in  to  drinkin'.  Sally  thought  that 
Cynthia  was  one  woman  that  'ud  not  resk  her 

312 


Pole     Baker 

chance  with  a  drinkin'  man.  Cynthia's  a  good 
girl,  Nelson,  and  maybe  she  thinks  she  kin  make 
herse'f  useful  in  life  by  marrying  a  preacher.  I 
dunno.  And  then  he  is  a  bright  sort  of  fellow;  he 
is  sharp  enough  to  know  that  she  is  the  smartest 
and  best  unmarried  woman  in  Georgia.  Well,  that 
will  be  purty  hard  fer  you  to  bear,  but  you  must 
face  it  along  with  the  other,  my  boy." 

"Yes,  I've  got  to  grin  and  bear  it,"  Floyd  said, 
almost  under  his  breath.  "I've  got  to  face  that  and 
the  knowledge  that  I  might  have  won  her  if  I  had 
gone  about  it  in  the  right  way.  From  my  un 
fortunate  father  I  have  inherited  some  gross  passions, 
Pole,  and  I  was  not  always  strong  enough  to  rise 
above  them.  I  made  many  big  mistakes  before  I 
met  her,  and  even  after  that,  I  blush  to  say,  my  old 
tendency  clung  to  me  so  that — well,  I  never  under 
stood  her,  as  she  really  deserved,  till  the  day  you 
raked  me  over  the  coals  at  the  bush-arbor  meeting. 
Pole,  that  night,  when  she  and  I  were  thrown  by 
the  storm  in  that  barn  together,  I  remembered  all 
you  said.  It  seemed  to  give  me  new  birth,  and  I 
saw  her  for  the  first  time  as  she  was,  in  all  her 
wonderful  womanly  strength  and  beauty  of  character 
and  soul,  and  from  that  moment  I  loved  her.  My 
God,  Pole,  the  realization  of  that  big,  new  passion 
broke  over  me  like  a  great,  dazzling  light.  It  took 
me  in  its  grasp  and  shook  everything  that  was  vile 
and  gross  out  of  me.  From  that  moment  I  could 
never  look  into  her  face  for  very  shame  of  having 
failed  to  comprehend  her." 

"I  seed  you  was  in  danger,"  Pole  said,  modestly. 
"  It  was  a  mighty  hard  thing  to  have  to  talk  as  I 

313 


Pole    Baker 

did  to  a  friend,  but  I  felt  that  it  was  my  duty,  and 
out  it  come.  I'm  not  goin'  to  take  no  hand  in  this, 
though,  Nelson.  I  think  you  are  in  every  way 
worthy  o'  her,  but,  as  I  say,  only  a  woman  kin  tell 
who  she  ought  to  yoke  with  fer  life.  If  she  refused 
you,  after  due  deliberation,  an'  decided  on  another 
man,  why,  I  hain't  one  single  word  to  say.  I'm 
after  her  happiness,  as  I'm  after  yore'n.  I'd  like  to 
see  you  linked  together,  but  ef  that  ain't  to  be,  then 
I  want  to  see  you  both  happy  apart." 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke.  Then  it  seemed 
that  Pole  wanted  to  change  the  subject. 

"  In  try  in'  to  run  upon  you  this  mornin',  Nelson," 
he  said,  "  I  went  out  to  yore  —  out  to  Henry  A. 
Floyd's.  That  woman,  his  housekeeper,  met  me  at 
the  door  an'  let  me  inside  the  hall.  She's  a  kind, 
talkative  old  soul,  and  she's  worried  mighty  nigh  to 
death  about  the  old  man.  She  remembered  seein' 
me  before,  an'  she  set  in  to  tellin'  me  all  about  his 
troubles.  It  seems  that  he's  had  some  lawsuit,  an' 
his  last  scrap  o'  property  is  to  be  tuck  away  from 
him.  She  told  me  thar  was  a  debt  of  three  thou 
sand  dollars  to  pay  in  the  morning  or'  everything 
would  go.  While  she  was  talkin'  he  come  along, 
lookin'  more  dead  than  alive,  an'  I  axed  'im  ef  he 
could  put  me  on  to  yore  track.  He  glared  at  me 
like  a  crazy  man ;  his  jaws  was  all  sunk  in,  an'  with 
his  gray  hair  an'  beard  untrimmed,  an'  his  body 
all  of  a  quiver,  he  simply  looked  terrible. 

"No,'  said  he,  '  I  don't  know  whar  you  kin  find 
'im.  I've  heard  that  he  was  in  trouble,  an'  I'm 
sorry,  fer  I  know  what  trouble  means,'  an'  with  that 
he  stood  thar  twistin'  his  hands  an'  cryin'  like  a 

3U 


Pole    Baker 

pitiful  little  child  about  the  three  thousand  dollars 
his  creditors  wanted,  an'  that  thar  wasn't  a  ghost  of 
a  chance  to  raise  it.  He  said  he'd  made  every  effort, 
an'  now  was  starin'  starvation  in  the  face.  He 
turned  an'  went  back  to  his  room,  puttin'  his  old, 
bony  hand  on  the  wall  to  keep  from  fallin'  as  he 
moved  along.  I'm  a  pore  man,  Nelson,  but,  by 
all  that's  holy,  ef  I'd  'a'  had  the  money  the  old 
chap  wanted  this  mornin'  I'd  'a'  hauled  it  out  an' 
'a'  kissed  it  farewell.  I'm  that  way,  Nelson.  A 
fool  an'  his  money  is  soon  parted.  I'd  'a'  been 
seven  idiots  in  a  row  ef  I'd  'a'  had  that  much  cash, 
fer  I'd  certainly  'a'  yanked  that  squirmin'  old 
chap  off'n  his  bed  o'  coals." 

Floyd  bent  towards  the  speaker.  Their  eyes  met 
understandingly. 

"But  I've  got  money,  Pole — money  to  spare— 
and  that  old  wreck  is  my  father's  only  brother. 
I've  made  a  fortune  in  a  single  deal  to-day.  Look 
here,  Pole,  I'm  going  out  there  to-night — to-night, 
do  you  understand? — to-night,  before  he  goes  to 
bed,  and  give  him  a  check  that  will  more  than 
cover  his  shortage." 

"Are  you  goin'  to  do  that,  Nelson?" 

"Yes,  I  am.  Do  you  want  to  come  along  to 
witness  it?" 

"  No,  I'll  wait  fer  you  here,  but  God  bless  you,  my 
boy.  You'll  never,  never  be  sorry  fer  it,  if  you  live 
to  be  a  hundred  years  old." 

Floyd  sat  down  at  a  table,  and,  with  a  check 
book  in  hand,  was  adjusting  his  fountain-pen. 
Pole  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Down 
in  the  glare  below  a  woman  in  a  blue  hood  and 


Pole    Baker 

dress  stood  praying  aloud,  in  a  clear,  appealing 
voice,  while  all  about  her  were  grouped  the  other 
Salvationists  and  a  few  earnest-eyed  spectators. 

"That's  right,  Miss  Blue-frock,"  Pole  said  to 
himself;  "go  ahead  an'  rake  in  yore  converts  from 
the  highways  an'  byways,  but  I've  got  one  in  this 
room  you  needn't  bother  about.  By  gum!  ef  it 
was  jest  a  little  darker  in  here,  I'll  bet  I  could  see 
a  ring  o'  fire  round  his  head." 


XXXVIII 

|N  the  street  below,  Nelson  took  a  car 
for  his  uncle's  residence,  and  fifteen 
minutes  later  he  was  standing  on  the 
veranda  ringing  the  bell.  Through  a 
window  on  his  left  he  looked  into  sf 
lighted  room.  He  saw  old  Floyd's  bent  figure  mov 
ing  about  within,  and  then  the  housekeeper  admit 
ted  him  into  the  dimly  lighted  hall.  She  regarded 
him  with  surprise  as  she  recalled  his  face. 

"You  want  to  see  Mr.  Floyd?"  she  said.  "I'll 
see  if  he  will  let  you  come  in.  He's  in  a  frightful 
condition,  sir,  over  his  troubles.  Really,  sir,  he's 
so  desperate  I'm  afraid  he  may  do  himself  some 
harm." 

Leaving  Nelson  standing  in  the  hall,  she  went  into 
the  lighted  room,  and  the  young  man  heard  her 
talking  persuasively  to  her  master.  Presently  she 
came  back  and  motioned  the  visitor  to  enter.  He 
did  so,  finding  the  old  man  standing  over  a  table 
covered  with  letters,  deeds,  and  other  legal  docu 
ments.  He  did  not  offer  his  hand,  and  the  young 
man  stood  in  some  embarrassment  before  him. 

"Well,"  old  Floyd  said,  "what  do  you  want? 
Are  you  here  to  gloat  over  me?" 

"No,  I  am  not,"  returned  the  visitor.  "It  is 
simply  because  I  do  not  feel  that  way  that  I  came. 


Pole     Baker 

A  friend  of  mine  was  here  to-day,  and  he  said  you 
were  in  trouble." 

"Trouble?— huh!"  snarled  old  Floyd.  "I  guess 
you  are  glad  to  know  that." 

"I  certainly  am  not,"  Nelson  said,  warmly.  "I 
heard  of  it  only  a  few  minutes  ago  at  the  Kimball 
House,  where  I  am  staying,  and  I  took  the  first  car 
to  reach  you.  I  wish  I  had  heard  of  the  matter 
earlier — that  is,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  help  you 
out." 

"You — you  help  me?"  Old  Floyd  extended  his 
thin  hand  and  drew  a  chair  to  him  and  sank  into  it. 
"They've  all  talked  that  way — every  money-lender 
and  banker  that  I  have  applied  to.  They  all  say 
they  want  to  help,  but  when  they  look  at  these  " — 
Floyd  waved  his  hand  despondently  over  the  docu 
ments — "when  they  look  at  these,  and  see  the  size 
of  the  mortgage,  they  make  excuses  and  back  out. 
I  don't  want  to  waste  time  with  you.  I  know  what 
sort  of  man  you  are.  You  have  made  what  you've 
got  by  being  as  close  as  the  bark  on  a  tree,  and  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  at  the  outset  that  I  haven't  any 
security — not  a  dollar's  worth." 

"I  didn't  want  security,"  Nelson  said,  looking 
sympathetically  down  into  the  withered  face. 

"You  don't  want —  The  old  man,  his  hands  on 
his  knees,  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  failed.  "  My 
Lord,  you  say  you  don't  want  security ;  then — then 
what  the  devil  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  to  give  you  the  money,  if  you'll  do  me 
the  honor  to  accept  it,"  Nelson  declared.  "My 
friend  told  me  the  amount  was  exactly  three  thou 
sand.  I  have  drawn  this  check  for  four. ' '  The  young 

31* 


Pole     Baker 

man  was  extending  the  pink  slip  of  paper  towards 
him.  "  And  if  that  is  not  enough  to  put  you  square 
ly  on  your  feet,  I  am  ready  to  increase  it." 

"You  mean —  The  old  man  took  the  check  and, 
with  blearing  eyes  and  shaking  hands,  examined  it 
in  the  lamplight.  "You  mean  that  you  will  give  — 
actually  give  me  four  thousand  dollars,  when  I 
haven't  a  scrap  of  security  to  put  up?" 

"Yes,  that's  exactly  what  I  mean." 

Old  Floyd  took  his  eyes  from  the  check  and 
shrinkingly  raised  them  to  the  young  man's  face. 
Then  he  dropped  the  paper  on  the  table  and  groaned. 
There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  The  housekeeper, 
passing  by  the  open  door,  looked  in  wonderingly, 
and  moved  on.  The  old  man  saw  her,  and,  rising 
suspiciously,  he  shambled  to  the  door  and  closed  it. 
Then  he  turned  aimlessly  and  came  slowly  back, 
his  hand  pressed  to  his  brow. 

"I  can't  make  it  out,"  Nelson  heard  him  mutter 
ing.  "  I'm  afraid  of  it.  It  may  be  a  trick,  and  yet 
what  trick  could  anybody  play  on  a  man  in  the  hole 
I'm  in?  Four  thousand  ?"  He  was  looking  first  at 
the  check  and  then  at  his  caller.  "  Four  thousand 
would  save  me  from  actual  ruin — it  would  make  me 
comfortable  for  life.  I  can't  believe  you  mean  to 
give  it  to  me — really  give  it.  The  world  isn't  built 
that  wray.  It  would  be  very  unbecoming  in  me  to 
doubt  you,  to  impugn  your  motives,  sir,  but  I'm  all 
upset.  The  doctors  say  my  mind  is  affected.  One 
lawyer,  a  sharper,  suggested  that  I  could  get  out  of 
this  debt  by  claiming  that  I  was  not  mentally 
responsible  when  I  signed  the  papers,  but  that 
wouldn't  work.  I  knew  mighty  well  what  I  was 


Pole    Baker 

doing.  Now,  on  top  of  it  all,  here  you  come — you 
of  all  living  men — and,  in  so  many  plain  English 
words — offer  to  give  me  a  thousand  more  than  the 
debt.  Sir,  I  don't  want  to  be  impolite,  but  I 
simply  can't  believe  that  you  mean  it." 

Greatly  moved,  the  young  man  put  his  hands  on 
the  old  man's  shoulders  and  gently  pressed  him 
down  into  his  chair;  then  he  got  another  and  sat 
close  to  him. 

"  Try  to  look  at  this  thing  calmly,"  he  said.  "  In 
the  first  place,  you  don't  understand  me.  You  are 
not  a  relative  of  mine  by  law,  but  by  blood  you  are 
the  only  one  I  ever  saw.  You  are  the  brother  of  the 
man  who  gave  me  life — such  as  it  is — and,  for  aught 
I  know,  you  may  even  resemble  him.  I  have  been 
in  great  trouble  over  the  revelations  you  made 
recently,  but  all  that  has  burned  itself  to  a  cinder 
within  me,  and  I  have  determined  to  go  back  up 
there  in  the  mountains  and  face  it.  But  that  isn't 
all.  Certain  investments  I  have  made  in  the  past 
are  turning  out  money  in  the  most  prodigal  manner. 
The  amount  I  am  offering  you  is  a  mere  trifle  to 
what  I  have  made  in  one  single  transfer  of  property 
to-day.  I  sincerely  want  you  to  take  it.  It  would 
give  me  great  joy  to  help  you,  and,  if  you  refuse,  it 
will  pain  me  more  than  I  can  say.  We  are  not 
relatives  before  the  world,  but  we  are  by  ties  of 
nature,  and  I  pity  you  to-night  as  I  never  pitied 
any  human  being  in  my  life." 

"My  God!  my  God!"  The  old  man  struggled 
again  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  avoiding  Nelson's  ear 
nest  stare.  "  Wait  here.  Keep  your  seat,  sir.  Let 
me  think.  I  can't  take  your  money  without  mak- 

320 


Pole    Baker 

ing  a  return  for  it.  Let  me  think."  He  tot 
tered  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  passed  out  into 
the  hall.  There  Nelson  heard  him  striding  back 
and  forth  for  several  minutes.  Presently  he  came 
back.  He  was  walking  more  erectly.  There  was 
in  his  eyes  a  flitting  gleam  of  hope.  Approaching,  he 
laid  a  quivering  hand  on  Nelson's  shoulder.  "I 
have  thought  of  a  plan,"  he  said,  almost  eagerly. 
"  Your  partner  in  business,  Mr. — Mr.  Mayhew,  came 
down  here  looking  for  you,  and  he  told  me  how 
my  unpleasant  disclosure  had  unstrung  you,  upset 
your  prospects,  and  caused  you  to  leave  home. 
Now,  see  here.  It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  I 
am  actually  the  only  living  individual  who  knows 
the — the  true  facts  about  your  birth  and  your 
father's  life.  Now  here  is  what  I  can  and  will  do — 
you  see,  what  I  say,  what  /  testify  to  during  my 
lifetime  will  stand  always.  I  am  willing  to  take 
that — that  money,  if  you  will  let  me  give  you  sworn 
papers,  showing  that  it  was  all  a  mistake,  and  that 
your  parents  were  actually  man  and  wife.  This 
could  harm  no  one,  and  it  would  be  only  justice  to 
you." 

Nelson  stood  up  suddenly.  It  was  as  if  a  great 
light  had  suddenly  burst  over  him.  His  blood 
bounded  through  his  veins. 

"You  will  do  that?"  he  cried—  "that  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  not  a  living  soul  could  ever  contradict 
it,"  the  old  man  said,  eagerly.  "  I  can  put  into  your 
hands  indisputable  proof .  More  than  that,  I'll  write 
up  to  Mayhew  and  Duncan  in  your  neighborhood 
and  show  the  matter  in  a  thoroughly  new  light." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met.  For  a  moment 
321 


Pole     Baker 

there  was  silence  in  the  room  so  profound  that  the 
flame  of  the  lamp  made  an  audible  sound  like  the 
drone  of  an  imprisoned  insect.  The  old  man  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

"What  do  you  say?"  he  asked,  almost  gleefully, 
and  he  rubbed  his  palms  together  till  the  dry  skin 
emitted  a  low,  rasping  sound. 

Suddenly  Nelson  sank  back  into  his  chair  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"What  do  you  say?"  repeated  the  old  man; 
"surely  you  won't  re— 

He  was  interrupted  by  Nelson,  who  suddenly 
looked  up,  and  with  a  frank  stare  into  the  old  man's 
face  he  said,  calmly: 

"No,  I  can't  be  a  party  to  that,  Mr.  Floyd.  I 
fully  understand  all  it  would  mean  to  me  before  the 
world,  but  I  am  not  willing  to  bear  the  stamp  of  a 
lie,  no  matter  how  justifiable  it  may  seem,  all 
through  life.  A  man  can  enjoy  being  only  what  he 
really  is,  either  high  or  low.  No,  sir,  I  appreciate 
your  willingness  to  help  me,  but  you  can't  do  it  that 
way." 

"  Why,  you — you  can't  mean  to  refuse!"  old  Floyd 
gasped. 

"I  have  to,"  said  the  young  man.  "As  for  the 
real  dishonesty  of  the  thing,  I  might  as  well  be  any 
other  sort  of  impostor.  No,  I  want  to  be  only  what 
I  am  in  this  world.  Besides,  I  can't  be  a  party  to 
your  swearing  a  lie.  No,  I'll  have  to  decline." 

"Then  —  then,"  the  old  man  groaned — "then  I 
can't  take  your  money." 

"But  you'll  have  to,"  Nelson  smiled,  sadly.  "I 
can  make  you  do  it.  I'll  give  you  no  other  recourse. 

322 


Pole    Baker 

I  shall  simply  instruct  the  bank  in  the  morning  to 
place  it  to  your  credit  and  charge  it  to  my  account. 
If  you  don't  draw  it  out,  neither  you  nor  I  will 
get  the  benefit  of  it,  for  I  shall  never  touch  it 
again." 

Taking  his  hat,  Nelson  moved  towards  the  door, 
followed  by  the  tottering,  faintly  protesting  old 
man.  And  as  he  was  leaving  the  last  words  the 
visitor  heard  were:  "I  can't  take  it,  sir.  I  can't 
take  money  from  you,  as  bad  as  I  need  it.  I  can't — 
I  can't!" 

When  Nelson  Floyd  reached  the  hotel  it  was 
eleven  o'clock.  He  found  Pole  seated  in  the  dark 
at  an  open  window,  his  coat  and  shoes  off.  He  was 
smoking. 

"Well,  here  you  are,"  was  the  mountaineer's 
greeting.  "  I  was  sorter  sleepy,  but  I  wanted  to 
hear  what  you  done,  so  I  run  down  an'  got  me  a 
nickel  cigar.  Then  I've  put  in  my  time  watchin' 
the  folks  in  the  street.  I'll  be  dadblasted  ef  thar 
ain't  as  many  night-hawks  on  the  wing  now  as  thar 
was  jest  after  supper." 

Nelson  threw  off  his  coat  and  hat  and  sat  down 
and  recounted  briefly  all  that  had  taken  place 
at  Floyd's,  Pole  smoking  thoughtfully  the  while. 
When  Nelson  ceased  speaking  Pole  rose  and  be 
gan  to  undress. 

"So  the  blamed  old  codger  talked  like  he  wasn't 
goin'  to  draw  the  money,  eh?"  he  said.  "  Well,  that 
sorter  upsets  me ;  I  can't  exactly  make  it  out,  Nel 
son.  I'll  have  to  think  that  over.  It  ain't  what 
I  expected  him  to  do.  I  thought  he'd  pounce  on 

323 


Pole    Baker 

it  like  a  duck  on  a  June-bug.  No,  that's  quar,  I  tell 
you — powerful  quar!" 

They  had  been  in  bed  perhaps  two  hours  and 
Floyd  was  asleep,  when  something  waked  him  and 
he  lay  still,  listening.  Then,  looking  through  the 
darkness,  he  saw  Pole  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed, 
his  feet  on  the  floor. 

"It  ain't  no  use,"  Floyd  heard  him  muttering; 
"I  can't  sleep — thar  ain't  no  good  in  tryin'." 

"What's  the  reason  you  can't  sleep?"  Floyd 
asked,  suddenly. 

"Oh!"  Pole  exclaimed,  "I  didn't  know  you  was 
awake.  I  heard  you  breathin'  deep  an'  natural  jest 
a  minute  ago." 

"But  why  can't  you  sleep?"  Floyd  repeated. 

"I  don't  know,  Nelson,"  Pole  answered,  sheepish 
ly.  "Don't  you  bother.  Turn  over  an'  git  yore 
rest.  I  reckon  I'm  studyin'  too  much.  Thar's 
nothin'  on  earth  that  will  keep  a  feller  awake  like 
studyin'.  I  hain't  closed  my  eyes.  I've  been  lyin' 
here  wonderin'  an'  wonderin'  why  that  old  cuss 
didn't  want  to  take  that  money." 

"Why,  he  simply  didn't  feel  like  accepting  it 
from  a — a  stranger  and  a  man  he  had  treated  cold 
ly,  and  perhaps  too  severely,  on  a  former  meeting. 
You  see,  he  felt  unworthy— 

"Unworthy  hell!  That  ain't  it  —  you  kin  bet 
yore  socks  that  ain't  it!  That  sort  o'  man,  in  the 
hole  he's  in,  ain't  a-goin'  to  split  hairs  like  that, 
when  he's  on  the  brink  o'  ruin  an'  ready  to  commit 
suicide.  No,  siree,  you'll  have  to  delve  deeper  into 
human  nature  than  that.  Looky'  here,  Nelson. 
I'm  on  to  a  certain  thing  to-night  fer  the  fust  time. 

324 


Pole    Baker 

Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before  this  that  Henry  A. 
Floyd  got  his  start  in  life  by  a  plantation  left  him 
by  his  daddy?" 

"Why,  I  thought  you  knew  it!"  Floyd  said, 
sleepily.  "  But  what's  that  got  to  do  with  his  not 
wanting  to  take  the  money?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Pole  said.  "I'll  have  to  study 
on  it.  You  turn  over  an'  git  that  nap  out.  Yo're 
a-yawnin'  fit  to  bust  that  night-shirt." 


XXXIX 

(T  was  about  eight  o'clock  the  next 
morning  when  Floyd  waked.  The  first 
thing  he  saw  was  Pole  seated  in  the 
window  chewing  tobacco.  He  was  fully 
!  dressed,  had  shaved,  and  wore  a  new 
white  shirt  and  collar  that  glistened  like  porcelain  in 
the  morning  sun ;  he  had  on  also  a  new  black  cravat 
which  he  had  tied  very  clumsily. 

"Good  gracious,  have  you  been  waiting  for  me?" 
Floyd  cried,  as  he  sprang  out  of  bed  and  looked 
at  his  watch. 

"Not  much  I  hain't,"  the  mountaineer  smiled. 
"  I  was  up  at  my  usual  time,  at  sunrise.  I  struck 
a  restaurant  and  got  me  some  fried  eggs  an'  coffee, 
an'  then  walked  half  over  this  dern  town." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  you've  had  your  breakfast," 
Floyd  said,  "  for  I  wanted  you  to  go  down  with  me." 
"No,  thankee" — Pole  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
smiled — "I  tried  that  last  night  in  yore  place,  an' 
thar  was  so  many  niggers  in  burial  suits  standin' 
round  that  big  room  that  it  looked  like  resurrection 
day  in  a  coon  graveyard.  The  damned  idiots  stared 
at  me  as  ef  they  thought  I'd  blowed  in  off'n  a  load 
o'  hay.  They  passed  me  from  one  to  t'other  like 
coals  o'  fire  on  a  shovel  till  they  landed  me  in  a 
corner  whar  nobody  wouldn't  see  me." 

326 


Pole    Baker 

Floyd  laughed.  "You  are  all  right,  Pole;  don't 
you  ever  let  that  fact  escape  you." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Nelson?  Well,  anyway,  a 
biggity  nigger  waiter  tried  to  take  me  down  once 
when  I  was  here,  about  a  year  ago.  I'd  heard  a 
good  deal  o'  talk  about  that  fine  eatin'-room  down 
the  street  whar  only  the  big  Ikes  git  the'r  grub,  an', 
wantin'  a  snack,  I  drapped  in  an'  hung  up  my  hat. 
The  head  coon  tuck  me  to  a  table  whar  some  other 
fellows  was  eatin',  an'  another  one  made  me  a  pres 
ent  of  a  handkerchief  an'  shoved  a  card  under  my 
nose.  The  card  had  lots  o'  Dutch  on  it,  an'  I  was 
kinder  flustered,  but  as  the  nigger  looked  like  he  un 
derstood  our  language,  I  told  'im  to  never  mind  the 
printin'  but  to  fetch  me  two  fried  eggs  an'  a  cup  o' 
coffee  an'  free  bread,  ef  he  had  it,  an'  ef  not  to 
charge  it  in  the  bill.  Well,  sir,  after  I'd  give  the 
order,  the  coon  still  stood  thar,  tryin'  his  level  best 
to  turn  up  his  flat  nose ;  so  I  axed  'im  what  he  was 
waitin'  fer,  an'  he  sneered  an'  axed  me  ef  that  was 
all  I  expected  to  eat.  I  told  'im  it  was,  an',  with  a 
grin  at  the  coon  at  the  next  table,  he  shuffled  off. 
Well,  you  know,  I  was  hot  under  the  collar,  an'  I 
seed  that  the  other  men  at  the  table  looked  like 
they  was  with  me,  though  they  didn't  chip  in.  Purty 
soon  my  waiter  come  back  with  my  order,  an',  with 
a  sniff,  he  set  it  down.  It  looked  like  he  thought 
jest  to  be  a  lackey  in  a  fine  house  like  that  was  next 
to  wearin'  wings  an'  flyin'  over  golden  streets.  He 
axed  me  ag'in  ef  that  was  all  I  wanted,  an'  when  I 
said  it  was  he  give  another  sniff,  an'  drawed  out  a 
pad  an'  writ  down  twenty-five  cents  on  it  in  great 
big  figures,  an'  tore  off  the  leaf  an'  drapped  it 

327 


Pole    Baker 

in  front  o'  my  plate.  'Mighty  small  bill,'  he  said. 
'Yes/  said  I,  'that  order  'ud  'a'  cost  fifty  cents  in  a 
fust-class  place,  but  I  was  busy  an'  didn't  have 
time  to  go  any  furder.'  Well,  sir,  them  men  in  front 
o'  me  jest  hollered.  They  banged  on  the  table  with 
the'r  knives  an'  plates,  an'  yelled  till  everybody  in 
the  room  stood  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
One  big,  fat,  jolly-faced  man  with  a  red,  bushy 
mustache  in  front  of  me  re'ched  his  paw  clean  across 
the  table  an'  said:  'Put  'er  thar,  white  man; 
damn  it,  put  'er  thar!'  I  tuck  a  drink  with  'im 
when  we  went  out.  He  tried  to  buy  me  a  five- 
dollar  hat  to  remember  'im  by,  but  I  wouldn't 
take  it." 

Floyd  laughed  heartily.  He  had  finished  dress 
ing.  "Did  you  finally  get  it  settled  in  your  mind, 
Pole,  why  that  old  man  didn't  want  to  take  my 
check  last  night?" 

"Thar's  a  lots  o'  things  I've  got  to  git  settled  in 
my  mind,"  was  the  somewhat  evasive  reply.  "I 
told  you  I  was  goin'  to  take  the  ten- thirty  train  fer 
Darley,  but  I  ain't  a-goin'  a  step  till  I've  seed  a 
little  furder  into  this  business.  Looky'  here,  Nel 
son  Floyd,  fer  a  man  that's  had  as  much  dealin's 
with  men  in  all  sorts  o'  ways  as  you  have,  you  are 
a-actin'  quar." 

"I  don't  understand  you."  Floyd  had  put  his 
hand  on  the  latch  to  open  the  door,  but,  seeing  his 
friend's  serious  face,  he  went  back  to  the  window 
wondering  what  Pole  was  driving  at. 

"You  say,"  said  Pole,  "that  Henry  A.  Floyd 
came  into  his  plantation  at  his  daddy's  death?" 

"That's  my  impression,  Pole." 
328 


Pole    Baker 

The  mountaineer  went  to  the  cuspidor  near  the 
washstand  and  spat  deliberately  into  it;  then  he 
came  back  wiping  his  lips  on  his  long  hand. 

"  An'  when  the  old  man  died  he  jest  had  two  sons 
— yore  daddy  an'  this  one  here?"  Pole  said,  tenta 
tively,  his  heavy  brows  drawn  together. 

"Yes,  that's  right,  Pole." 

"Well,  Nelson"  —  the  mountaineer  was  staring 
steadily  at  his  friend  —  "I  make  a  rule  never  to 
judge  a  person  too  quick,  but  whar  I  see  a  motive 
fer  evil  in  a  man  that  ain't  plumb  straight,  I  gener 
ally  find  some'n'  crooked." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  understand  you,  Pole,"  Floyd 
said,  his  eyes  wide  in  curiosity. 

Pole  stepped  near  to  Floyd  and  laid  his  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  as  keen  and  sharp  as 
you  are,  that  you  tuck  that  old  skunk's  word  about 
a  matter  as  important  as  that  is,  when  he  come  into 
property  from  yore  granddaddy — property  that  'ud 
be  part  yore'n  as  his  brother's  son?  Shucks!  I'm 
jest  a  mountain  scrub,  but  I  ain't  as  big  a  fool  as 
that. 

"Oh,  I  know!"  said  Floyd,  wearily.  "I  suppose 
you  are  right,  but  I  don't  care  to  go  to  law  about  a 
little  handful  of  property  like  that;  besides,  you 
know  it  would  be  my  interest  only  in  case  I  was 
a'  lawful  heir  —  don't  forget  that  damnable  fact, 
Pole." 

"I'm  not  thinkin'  about  the  value  of  property, 
nuther,"  said  Baker;  "but,  my  boy,  I  am  lookin'  fer 
a  motive — a  motive  fer  rascality,  an'  I  think  I've 
found  one  as  big  as  a  barn.  I  don't  any  more 

329 


Pole    Baker 

believe  that  dirty  tale  old  Floyd  told  you  than  I'd 
believe  it  about  my  old  saint  of  a  mother." 

"  But  you  don't  know  what  he  showed  me,  Pole," 
Floyd  sighed.  "I  never  had  the  heart  to  go  over 
it  thoroughly,  but  it  was  conclusive  enough  to  draw 
a  black  curtain  over  my  whole  life." 

"I  don't  care,  Nelson,"  Pole  said,  warmly.  "I 
don't  give  a  damn  what  he  said,  or  showed  you. 
Thar's  a  big,  rotten  stench  in  Denmark,  I'm  here  to 
tell  you;  an'  ef  I  don't  squeeze  the  truth  out  o'  that 
old  turnip  before  night  I'll  eat  my  hat.  You  go  on 
an'  git  yore  breakfast,  an'  let  me  map  out — " 

There  was  rap  on  the  door.  Floyd  opened  it. 
A  negro  porter  in  uniform  stood  on  the  threshold. 
. "  A  man  down-stairs  wants  to  see  you,  Mr.  Floyd," 
he  announced. 

"Did  he  give  his  name?"  Nelson  asked. 

"No,  sir,  he  didn't." 

"He's  an  old,  white-headed,  dingy-faced  fellow, 
ain't  he?"  Pole  put  in. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  servant.  "  He  looks  like 
he's  sick." 

"Well,  you  tell  'im  to  come  up  here,"  said  Pole, 
his  face  rigid,  and  his  eyes  gleaming  triumphantly. 
When  the  negro  had  gone  the  two  friends  stood 
facing  each  other.  "Nelson,  my  boy,"  Pole  said, 
tremulously,  "I'm  goin'  to  stroll  outside  down  the 
hall.  I'd  bet  a  full-blooded  Kentucky  mare  to  a 
five-cent  ginger-cake  that  you  can  run  this  whole 
rotten 'business  up  a  tree  if  you  will  play  your  cards 
exactly  right.  Looky'  here,  Nelson,  I've  changed 
my  mind  about  goin'  out  o'  this  room.  Thar's  en 
tirely  too  much  at  stake  to  leave  you  with  the 

330 


Pole    Baker 

reins  to  hold.  You  are  too  touchy  on  a  certain 
delicate  subject — you'll  take  a  lot  o'  guff  rather  than 
ask  questions.  I  wish  you'd  go  out  and  let  me 
meet  that  man  fust." 

"I'll  do  anything  you  suggest,  Pole,"  Floyd  de 
clared,  his  face  twitching  sensitively. 

"Well,  you  skoot  into  that  empty  room  next 
door.  I  seed  it  open  when  I  come  up.  Let  me 
have  the  old  codger  to  myself  fer  jest  five  minutes 
and  then  I'll  turn  'im  over  to  you.  Hurry  up!  I 
don't  want  'im  to  see  you  here." 

Floyd  acted  instantly)  Pole  heard  the  door  of 
the  adjoining  room  close  just  as  the  elevator  stopped 
at  the  floor  they  were  on. 

"Good,"  he  ejaculated.  He  threw  himself  back 
in  a  chair  and  had  just  picked  up  a  newspaper  when 
old  Floyd  cautiously  peered  in  at  the  half -open 
door. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,  Mr.  Floyd,"  Pole  said,  cordial 
ly.  "  Early  bird,  ain't  you?" 

"They  told  me  Mr.  Floyd  was  here,"  the  old  man 
said,  awkwardly,  as  he  stepped  inside  and  glanced 
around  the  room.  He  was,  in  the  open  daylight, 
even  paler  and  more  despondent-looking  than  he 
had  appeared  the  previous  evening.  In  his  hand  he 
held  Nelson's  check  folded  and  clutched  tightly. 

"  He's  jest  gone  out,"  Pole  said,  indicating  a  chair, 
" set  down;  he'll  be  back  here  in  a  minute." 

"I — I  thought  he  was  up  here  alone,"  the  old 
man  stammered. 

"Oh,  it  don't  make  no  difference,"  Pole  smiled, 
easily,  "me  'n'  Nelson's  jest  like  two  brothers.  You 
see,  what  one  knows  the  other  does.  The  truth 

33i 


Pole    Baker 

is,  me  'n'  him  work  together,  Mr.  Floyd,  an'  I've 
been  investigatin'  that  case  about  his  mammy  an' 
daddy  fer  sometime.  I  run  the  whole  thing  down 
yesterday,  an'  come  in  an'  told  'im  about  it  last 
night  after  he'd  got  back  from  yore  house.  By 
gum!  the  boy  broke  down  an'  cried  like  a  child  fer 
puore  joy.  It  would  'a'  done  you  good  to  'a'  seed 
'im.  That  was  an'  awfully  nasty  thing  fer  a  proud 
young  sperit  to  stand  up  under,  an'  you  bet  gittin' 
it  off  was  a  relief." 

"You  mean—  The  old  man  sank  heavily  into 
a  chair,  but  he  could  go  no  further.  He  stared 
helplessly  into  Pole's  inscrutable  face,  and  then  his 
shifting  eyes  fell  guiltily. 

"Why,  you  see,"  Pole  smiled,  plausibly;  "all  I 
wanted  was  a  clew  to  start  from,  an'  after  nosin' 
about  whar  Nelson's  daddy  had  lived  I  at  last 
discovered  that  he  was  part  heir  to  that  property 
o'  yore'n,  then,  you  see,  the  whole  shootin '-match 
was  as  clear  as  a  wart  on  the  side  of  my  own  nose. 
The  next  discovery  was  the  marriage  record,  an' 
then  I  had  the  whole  thing  in  apple-pie  order.  You 
needn't  set  thar  an'  look  scared  out  o'  yore  skin, 
Mr.  Floyd.  Nelson  'ud  have  his  right  arm  sawed  off 
at  the  shoulder- joint  rather  'n  prosecute  you.  He 
told  me  last  night  that  he'd  stand  by  you.  He's 
got  money  to  burn,  an'  he'll  never  let  his  daddy's 
brother  suffer.  He  told  me  jest  this  mornin' — 
1  Pole,'  said  he,  '  I  don't  believe  Uncle  Henry  would 
'a'  kept  this  back  so  long  ef  he  hadn't  been  mighty 
nigh  out  o'  his  head  with  his  own  troubles." 

"God  knows  I  wouldn't!  God  knows  that!" 
sobbed  the  old  man,  impulsively.  "  I  meant  to  tell 

332 


Pole     Baker 

him  the  truth  the  day  I  met  you  and  told  you  he 
was  my  nephew,  but  I  had  a  sick  spell,  and  I  got  to 
worrying  about  the  little  all  I  had  for  my  old  age. 
I  thought  you  were  prying  into  matters,  too,  and 
knew  that  any  question  about  the  titles  would 
make  my  creditors  jump  on  me,  and — 

"I  see,  I  see!"  said  Pole.  Indifference  was  in 
his  voice,  but  his  rugged  face  was  afire,  his  great, 
eager  eyes  were  illumined  by  a  blaze  of  triumph.  "  I 
reckon  the  proof  you  showed  him  was  forgery,  Mr. 
Floyd,  but  of  a  harmless  kind  that  most  any  man 
in  trouble  naturally  would — " 

"No,  those  letters  were  not  forgeries,"  broke  in 
the  old  man.  "They  were  really  my  brother's,  but 
they  related  to  his  life  with  another  woman.  When 
their  child  died,  she  deserted  him  for  another  man. 
My  brother  came  home  broken  -  hearted,  but  he 
finally  got  over  it,  and  married  a  nice  girl  of  good 
family.  She  was  Nelson's  mother.  In  my  great 
trouble,  and  facing  ruin,  it  struck  me  that  the 
letters  would  convince  the  boy  and  he  would  keep 
quiet  and  not  put  in  a  claim  until — until  I  could 
see  my  way  out — but  now,  you  say  he  knows  it 
all." 

"Yes,  an'  is  so  happy  over  it,  Mr.  Floyd,  that 
instead  o'  givin'  you  trouble,  he'll  throw  his  arms 
around  you.  God  bless  you,  old  hoss,  you've  been 
denyin'  the  finest  member  yore  family  ever  had. 
I  reckon  you  can  turn  over  to  him  sufficient  proof" — 
Pole  drew  himself  up  with  a  start — "  proof,  I  mean, 
that  will,  you  see,  sort  o'  splice  in  with  all  I've  run 
up  on — proof  that  he  is  legally  yore  nephew." 

"Oh,  plenty!"  the  old  man  said,  almost  eagerly; 
333 


Pole    Baker 

"and  I'll  get  it  up  at  once.  I've  brought  his  check 
back,"  he  unfolded  it  and  held  it  in  his  quivering 
hands.  "  I  couldn't  take  money  from  him  after 
treating  him  as  I  have." 

Pole  laughed  outright.  "You  keep  that  check, 
old  man,"  he  said.  "Nelson  Floyd  will  cram  it 
down  yore  throat  ef  you  won't  take  it  any  other 
way.  I  tell  you  he's  jest  tickled  to  death.  He  thinks 
the  world  and  all  of  you  because  you  are  the  only 
kin  he  ever  laid  eyes  on.  Now,  you  stay  right  whar 
you  are  an'  I'll  send  'im  to  you.  He's  not  fur  off." 

Hurrying  into  the  next  room,  Pole  saw  Floyd 
standing  at  a  window  looking  out  into  the  street,  a 
touch  of  his  old  despondency  on  him.  He  caught 
Pole's  triumphant  smile  and  stood  with  lips  parted 
in  suspense. 

"It's  jest  as  I  told  you,  my  boy,"  the  mountaineer 
said,  with  a  chuckle.  "  He's  owned  up  to  the  whole 
blasted  thing.  You've  got  as  good  a  right  to  vote 
in  America  as  any  man  in  it." 

"Good  God,  Pole,  you  don't  mean — " 

"You  go  in  thar  an'  he'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 
Pole  continued  to  smile. 

"You  say  he  has  actually  confessed  of  his  own 
accord?"  Floyd  cried,  incredulously. 

"  Well,  I  did  sorter  have  to  lead  'im  along  a  little," 
Pole  laughed.  "To  unlock  his  jaws,  I  told  'im  me 
'n'  you  already  knowed  the  facts,  so  you  might  as 
well  take  that  stand,  give  'im  plenty  o'  rope  an'  let 
'im  tell  you  all  about  it.  But  don't  be  hard  on  'im, 
Nelson;  the  pore  old  cuss  wanted  to  do  the  fair 
thing  but  was  pressed  to  the  wall  by  circumstances 
an'  devilish  men." 

334 


Pole    Baker 

"Thank  God,  Pole,  thank  God!"  Floyd  cried.  "  I 
can  hardly  believe  it's  true." 

"Well,  it  is,  all  right  enough,"  Baker  assured  him. 
"Now,  I'm  goin'  to  catch  the  ten-thirty  train.  I 
want  to  git  home  before  you  do,  an'  git  this  thing 
circulated — so  nobody  won't  snub  you  an'  feel  bad 
about  it  afterwards.  I'll  strike  old  Mrs.  Snodgrass 
the  fust  thing.  She  is  editor  of  the  Hill-top  Whirl 
wind,  an*  will  have  an  extra  out  ten  minutes  after  I 
land  containin'  full  particulars.  Fer  once  I'm  goin' 
to  put  her  to  a  good  use.  She'll  certainly  make  the 
rounds,  an'  as  I  don't  want  the  old  thing  to  walk  'er 
props  off,  I'll  lend  'er  a  hoss.  But  I'll  tell  you  what 
I'd  like  fer  you  to  do,  Nelson,  an'  I  almost  ax  it  as 
a  favor." 

"What's  that,  Pole?" 

"Why,  I  want  you  to  take  that  old  chap  under 
yore  wing  to-day  an'  git  'im  out  o'  the  clutch  o' 
them  shyster  lawyers  that's  got  'im  scared  to  death." 

"You  may  rest  assured  that  I'll  do  that,"  Floyd 
said,  as  he  hurried  away. 

A  moment  later,  as  Pole  was  passing  Nelson's 
room  to  reach  the  main  stairway,  he  glanced  through 
the  open  door.  Old  Floyd  sat  with  bowed  head, 
wiping  his  eyes  on  his  handkerchief,  and  his  nephew 
stood  by  him,  his  hand  resting  on  his  shoulder. 


XL 


^HREE    days  later,  towards  sundown, 
as  Pole  was  about  to  enter  Floyd  & 
'  May  hew 's  store,  the  old  man  came  from 
behind  one  of  the  counters  and,  with 
smile   of  welcome,  caught   his  arm 
and  drew  him  to  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk. 

"  I  am  not  much  of  a  hand  to  talk  on  any  subject, 
Pole,"  he  said.  "But  there  is  something  I've  got 
to  say  to  you,  and  it  comes  from  the  heart." 

"Well,  ef  it  ain't  a  dun  I'll  be  glad  to  hear  it," 
Pole  smiled.  "  When  I  fust  catched  sight  of  you,  it 
flashed  over  me  that  ef  I  didn't  make  another  pay 
ment  on  that  debt  you'd  have  to  take  my  farm. 
But  I'm  gettin'  on  my  feet  now,  Mr.  May  hew,  an' — " 
"I'll  never  bother  you  on  that  score,"  the  mer 
chant  said,  impulsively.  "  I  was  just  about  to  tell 
you  that  I  am  deeply  grateful  for  what  you  did  for 
Nelson.  Oh,  he's  told  me  all  about  it!"  The  old 
man  held  up  his  hand  and  stopped  Pole,  who  was 
on  the  point  of  decrying  his  part  in  the  matter  in 
question.  "  Yes,  he  told  me  all  you  did,  Baker,  and 
I  don't  actually  believe  any  other  man  in  the  whole 
state  could  have  worked  it  so  fine;  and  the  boy's 
coming  back  here,  Pole,  has  been  my  financial  salva 
tion.  I  couldn't  have  kept  on  here,  and  it  would 
have  killed  me  to  see  the  old  business  fall  to  pieces." 

336 


Pole    Baker 

"  You  bet,  I'm  glad  he's  back,  too,"  Pole  returned. 
"An'  he's  happy  over  it,  ain't  he,  Mr.  Mayhew?" 

"Ah,  there's  the  trouble,  Baker!"  the  old  man 
sighed.  "  It  looks  like,  with  all  that  has  come  his 
way  of  late,  that  he  would  be  satisfied,  but  he  isn't — 
he  simply  isn't.  Baker,  I  think  I  see  what's  lacking. ' ' 

"You  think  you  do,  Mr.  Mayhew?"  Pole  leaned 
forward  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it's  due  to  Nathan  Porter's  daugh 
ter.  God  knows  she's  the  very  girl  for  him.  She's 
one  woman  that  I  admire  with  all  my  heart.  Nel 
son's  got  sense ;  he  sees  her  good  qualities,  and  wants 
her,  but  the  report  is  out  that  her  and  Hillhouse  are 
courting  down  at  Carters ville.  The  preacher's  had 
two  weeks'  extension  on  his  vacation,  and  they  tell 
me  he  is  cutting  a  wide  swath.  Folks  down  there 
are  raving  over  his  bright  sermons,  and  naturally 
that  will  flatter  and  influence  a  woman's  judgment. 
Besides,  I  really  believe  the  average  woman  would 
rather  marry  a  mountain  circuit-rider  on  three  hun 
dred  a  year  than  a  man  in  easy  circumstances  in  any 
other  calling." 

"I  don't  know  as  to  that,"  Pole  said,  evasively. 
"  Nobody  kin  pick  an'  choose  fer  a  woman.  Ef  I 
had  a  dozen  gals  I'd  keep  my  mouth  shet  on  the 
husband  line.  That's  old  man  Dickey's  policy,  over 
at  Darley ;  he  has  ten  gals  that  he  says  has  married 
men  in  every  line  o'  business  under  the  sun.  The 
last  one  come  to  'im  an'  declared  she  wanted  to 
marry  a  tight-rope  walker  that  was  exhibitin'  in 
the  streets.  That  sorter  feazed  the  old  chap,  and  he 
told  the  gal  that  her  husband  never  could  rise  but 
jest  so  high  in  the  world  an'  was  shore  to  come  down 

337 


Pole     Baker 

sooner  or  later,  but  she  was  the  doctor  an'  to  go 
ahead.  Even  that  marriage  turned  out  all  right, 
fer  one  day  the  chap,  all  in  stars  an'  spangles  an' 
women's  stockin's,  fell  off'n  of  a  rope  forty  feet 
from  the  ground.  He  struck  a  load  o'  hay  an'  broke 
his  fall,  but  on  his  way  down  he  seed  the  sale  sign 
of  a  grocery  across  the  street  an'  bought  the  busi 
ness,  an'  now  Dickey's  gettin'  his  supplies  at  whole 
sale  prices." 

Turning  from  the  old  man,  Pole  passed  the  clerks 
and  a  few  customers  in  the  store  and  went  back  to 
Floyd's  desk,  where  his  friend  sat  writing. 

"Got  yore  workin'  gear  on  I  see,"  he  observed, 
with  a  smile.  "You  look  busy." 

Floyd  pointed  to  a  stack  of  account-books  on  the 
desk  and  smiled.  "The  old  man  got  these  in  an 
awful  mess,"  he  said.  "But  I  am  getting  them 
straight  at  last." 

"How's  business?"  Pole  asked. 

"In  the  store,  pretty  good,"  Floyd  answered; 
"but  as  for  my  own  part,  I'm  busy  on  the  outside. 
I  closed  a  nice  deal  yesterday,  Pole.  You  remember 
the  offer  I  made  Price  for  his  plantation,  furnished 
house,  and  everything  else  on  the  place?" 

"You  bet." 

"Well,  he  came  to  my  terms.  The  property  is 
mine  at  last,  Pole." 

"Gee  whiz!  what  a  purty  investment!  It's  a 
little  fortune,  my  boy." 

"Yes,  it's  the  sort  of  thing  I've  wanted  for  a  long 
time,"  Floyd  returned.  "Most  men  have  their  hob 
bies,  and  mine  has  always  been  to  possess  a  model 
farm  that  I  could  keep  up  to  the  highest  notch  of 

338 


Pole    Baker 

perfection  for  my  own  pleasure  and  as  an  inspira 
tion  to  my  neighbors." 

"Bully,  bully  place,  Nelson!  You'll  always  be 
proud  of  it." 

"There's  only  one  drawback,"  said  Floyd;  "you 
see,  it  will  never  suit  me  to  live  there  myself,  and 
so  I've  got  to  get  a  sharp  manager  that  I  can  trust." 

"Ah  yes,  you  bet  you  have!"  Pole  declared. 

"And  such  a  man  is  hard  to  find,  Pole." 

"Huh,  I  should  think  so!"  the  farmer  answered. 
"  Captain  Duncan  told  me  he  fell  behind  three  thou 
sand  dollars  in  one  year  all  on  account  of  his  mana 
ger  being  careless  while  nobody  was  there  to  watch 
'im." 

"He  never  paid  his  man  enough,"  Nelson  said. 
"  I  shall  not  follow  that  plan.  I'm  going  to  pay  my 
superintendent  a  good,  stiff  salary,  so  as  to  make  it 
interesting  to  him.  Pole,  there  is  only  one  man 
alive  that  I'd  trust  that  place  to." 

Pole  stared  in  a  bewildered  way.  Floyd  was 
leading  him  beyond  his  depth. 

"You  say  thar  ain't,  Nelson?"  was  all  he  could 
say. 

"And  that  man  is  you,  Pole." 

"Me?  Good  Lord,  you  are  plumb  cracked — you 
are  a-jokin',  Nelson." 

"No,  I  never  was  more  serious  in  my  life.  If  I 
can't  get  you  to  take  that  place  in  hand  for  me,  I 
shall  sell  it  to  the  first  bidder.  Pole,  I'm  depending 
on  you.  The  salary  is  three  thousand  a  year,  rent 
of  the  house  free,  and  all  the  land  you  want  for  your 
own  use  thrown  in." 

"Three  thousand!  Geewhilikins,"  Pole  laughed. 
339 


Pole    Baker 

"I'd  be  a  purty  lookin'  chump  drawin'  that  much 
of  any  man's  money." 

"You'll  draw  that  much  of  mine,"  Floyd  said, 
looking  him  straight  in  the  eye,  and  you  will  make 
me  the  best  financial  return  for  it  of  any  man  in  the 
world." 

"That's  ridiculous,  Nelson,  you  are  plumb,  stark 
crazy!"  Pole  was  really  frowning  in  displeasure 
over  he  hardly  knew  what. 

"  No,  I'm  not  crazy,  either,"  Floyd  pursued,  laying 
his  hand  on  the  farmer's  shoulder.  "You've  often 
said  that  I  have  a  good  head  for  business,  well — 
that's  exactly  what's  causing  me  to  make  you  this 
proposition." 

"You  are  a  liar,  an'  you  know  it!"  Pole  growled. 
"You  know  you  are  a-doin'  it  beca'se  you  want  to 
help  me  'n'  my  family,  and,  by  the  holy  smoke,  I 
won't  let  you.  Thar !  I'm  flat-footed  on  that !  /  won't 
let  you.  Friendship  is  one  thing  an'  takin'  money 
from  a  friend  is  some'n'  else.  It's  low  down,  I'm 
here  to  tell  you.  It's  low  down,  even  ef  a  body  is 
on  the  ragged  edge  o'  poverty,  fer  ever'  man  ort  to 
work  fer  hisse'f." 

"  Look  here,  Pole,  I  get  out  of  patience  with  you 
sometimes,"  Floyd  said,  earnestly.  "Now,  answer 
this :  don't  you  know  that  if  you  did  accept  my  offer 
that  you  would  not  let  my  interests  suffer  wilfully?" 

"Of  course  I  do,  damn  it!"  Pole  retorted,  almost 
angrily.  "  Ef  I  was  workin'  fer  you  in  any  capacity 
I'd  wear  my  fingers  to  the  bone  to  do  what  was 
right  by  you." 

"Well,  there  you  are!"  Floyd  cried,  triumphantly. 
"Wouldn't  I  be  a  pretty  fool  not  to  try  to  employ 

340 


Pole     Baker 

you,  when  not  one  man  in  ten  thousand  will  be  that 
conscientious?  You've  answered  yourself,  Pole. 
I'm  going  to  have  you  on  that  job  if  I  have  to 
double  the  pay." 

"Well,  you  won't  git  me,  that's  certain!"  Pole 
retorted.  "You  are  offerin'  it  to  me  fer  no  other 
reason  than  that  we  are  friends,  an'  I'll  be  damned 
ef  I  take  it." 

"  Look  here,  Pole  Baker,"  Floyd  smiled,  as  he  left 
his  high  stool,  locked  his  arm  in  that  of  his  compan 
ion,  and  drew  him  to  the  open  door  in  the  rear. 
"You  have  several  times  given  me  lectures  that 
have  done  me  more  solid  good  than  all  the  sermons 
I  ever  heard,  and  it's  my  time  now." 

"All  right,  shoot  away!"  Pole  laughed.  "The 
truth  is,  I  feel  derned  mean  about  some  o'  the  things 
I've  said  to  you  when  I  look  back  on  "em." 

"Well,  you've  shown  me  many  of  my  biggest 
faults,  Pole,  and  I  am  going  to  dangle  one  of  yours 
before  your  eyes.  I've  seen  you,  my  friend,  take 
money  that  your  reason  told  you  was  needed  by 
your  wife  and  children,  whom  you  love  devotedly, 
and,  in  a  sort  of  false  pride,  I've  seen  you  spend  it 
on  men  of  the  lowest  order.  You  did  it  under  the 
mistaken  notion  that  it  was  your  time  to  treat. 
In  other  words,  you  seemed  possessed  with  the 
idea  that  you  owed  that  crowd  more  than  you  did 
that  tender,  trusting  little  woman  and  her  children." 

"  Damn  it,  you  needn't  remind  me  of  that,  Nelson 
Floyd!  I  know  that  as  well  as  any  man  alive!" 
Pole's  face  was  full,  and  his  voice  husky  with  sup 
pressed  emotion. 

"  I  know  you  know  it,  Pole,  and  here  is  something 
34i 


Pole    Baker 

else  you'll  have  to  admit,  and  that  is,  that  you  are 
this  minute  refusing  something  that  would  fairly 
fill  your  wife  with  happiness,  and  you  are  doing  it 
under  the  damnably  false  notion  that  such  deals 
should  not  be  made  between  friends.  Why,  man, 
friends  are  the  only  persons  who  ought  to  have 
intimate  business  relations.  It  is  only  friends  who 
can  work  for  mutual  benefit." 

"Oh,  I  can't  argue  with  you,"  Pole  said,  stub 
bornly,  and  he  turned  suddenly  and  walked  down 
through  the  store  to  the  front.  Floyd  was  watch 
ing  him,  and  saw  him  pause  on  the  edge  of  the  side 
walk,  his  head  down,  as  if  in  deep  meditation.  He 
was  a  pathetic-looking  figure  as  he  stood  with  the 
red  sunset  sky  behind  him,  his  face  flushed,  his  hair 
thrown  back  from  his  massive  brow. 

Taking  his  hat,  Floyd  went  out  and  took  him 
by  the  arm,  and  together  they  strolled  down  the 
street  in  the  direction  of  Pole's  farm.  Presently 
Floyd  said:  "Surely  you  are  not  going  to  go  back 
on  me,  Pole.  I  want  you,  and  I  want  you  bad." 

"  Thar's  one  thing  you  reminded  me  of  in  thar  at 
the  desk,"  Pole  said,  in  a  low,  shaky  voice,  "and  it 
is  this:  Nelson,  the  little  woman  I  married  hain't 
never  had  one  single  hour  o'  puore  joy  since  the  day 
I  tuck  'er  from  her  daddy's  house.  Lord,  Lord, 
Nelson,  ef  I  could — ef  I  jest  could  go  home  to  'er 
now  an'  tell  'er  I'd  got  a  lift  in  the  world  like  that 
the  joy  of  it  'ud  mighty  nigh  kill  'er." 

"Well,  Pole" — Floyd  suddenly  drew  him  around 
till  they  stood  face  to  face  —  "you  do  it.  Do  you 
hear  me?  You  do  it.  If  you  don't,  you  will  be 
taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  a  helpless  woman. 

342 


Pole    Baker 

It's  her  right,  Pole.  You  haven't  a  word  to  say  in 
the  matter.  The  house  will  be  vacant  to-morrow. 
Move  her  in,  Pole;  move  the  little  woman  in  and 
make  her  happy." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met.  Pole  took  a  deep, 
lingering  breath,  then  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"I'll  go  you,  Nelson,"  he  said;  "and  ef  I  don't 
make  that  investment  pay,  I'll  hang  myself  to  the 
limb  of  a  tree.  Gee  whiz!  won't  Sally  be  tickled!" 

They  parted;  Floyd  turned  back  towards  the 
village,  and  Pole  went  on  homeward  with  a  quick, 
animated  step.  Floyd  paused  at  the  roadside  and 
looked  after  him  through  the  gathering  dusk. 

"He's  happy,  and  so  will  his  wife  be,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  But  as  for  me,  that's  another  matter. 
She's  going  to  marry  Hillhouse.  Great  God,  how 
strange  that  seems!  Cynthia  and  that  man  living 
together  as  man  and  wife!" 


XLI 

[T  was  almost  dark  when  Pole  reached 
his  humble  domicile.  The  mountain  air 
was  cool,  and  through  the  front  window 
of  the  living-room  he  saw  the  flare  of 
a  big,  cheerful  fire.  He  went  into  the 
house,  but  his  wife  was  not  in  sight.  Looking  into 
the  bedroom,  he  saw  the  children  sound  asleep,  their 
yellow  heads  all  in  a  row. 

"God  bless  'em!"  he  said,  fervently.  "I  reckon 
the'r  mammy's  down  at  the  barn."  Going  out  at 
the  back-door,  he  went  to  the  cow-lot,  and  then  he 
heard  Sally's  voice  rising  above  the  squealing  of  pigs 
and  the  cackling  of  hens.  "So,  so,  Lil!  can't  you 
behave?"  he  heard  her  saying.  "I  git  out  o'  all 
patience.  I  can't  keep  the  brat  out.  I  might  as 
well  give  up,  an'  yet  we've  got  to  have  milk." 

"What's  the  matter,  Sally?"  Pole  called  out,  as 
he  looked  over  the  rail-fence. 

"Why,  I  can't  keep  this  fool  calf  away,"  she  said, 
turning  to  him,  her  tin  pail  in  her  hand,  her  face  red 
with  vexation.  "The  little  imp  is  stealin'  all  the 
milk.  He's  had  enough  already  to  bust  'im  wide 
open." 

Pole  laughed  merrily ;  there  was  much  stored  in  his 
mind  to  make  him  joyous.  "  Let  me  git  at  the  dern 
little  skunk,"  he  said;  and  vaulting  over  the  fence 

344 


Pole     Baker 

with  the  agility  of  an  acrobat,  he  took  the  sleek, 
fawnlike  creature  in  his  strong  arms  and  stood  hold 
ing  it  against  his  breast  as  if  it  were  an  infant. 
"That's  the  way  to  treat  'im?"  he  cried.  And 
carrying  the  animal  to  the  fence,  he  dropped  it  on 
the  outside.  "  Thar,  you  scamp !"  he  laughed ;  "  you 
mosey  around  out  here  in  the  tater-patch  till  you 
1'arn  some  table  manners." 

Sally  laughed  and  looked  at  her  husband  proudly. 
"I'm  glad  you  come  when  you  did,"  she  said,  "fer 
you  wouldn't  'a'  had  any  milk  to  go  on  yore  mush; 
me  'n'  the  childern  have  had  our  supper  an'  they  are 
tucked  away  in  bed." 

"Let  me  finish  milkin',"  Pole  said.  "An'  you 
go  in  an'  git  my  mush  ready."  He  took  the  pail  and 
sat  down  on  an  inverted  soap-box.  "I'll  make  up 
fer  that  calf's  stealin'  or  I'll  have  old  Lil's  bag  as 
flabby  as  an  empty  meal-sack." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  followed  Sally  into  the  kitchen 
where  she  had  his  simple  supper  ready  for  him. 
When  he  had  eaten  it,  he  led  her  into  the  living- 
room  and  they  sat  down  before  the  fire.  It  was 
only  for  a  moment,  though,  for  she  heard  little  Billy 
talking  in  his  sleep  and  sprang  up  and  went  to  him. 
She  came  back  to  her  chair  in  a  moment. 

" The  very  fust  spare  money  I  git,"  she  said,  "I'm 
goin'  to  have  panes  o'  glass  put  in  that  window  in 
thar.  I  keep  old  rags  stuffed  in  the  holes,  but  the 
rain  beats  'em  down,  and  hard  winds  blow  'em 
out.  It  don't  take  as  much  fire-wood  to  keep  a 
tight  house  warm  as  it  does  an  open  one  like  this." 

" Sally,  we  ought  to  live  in  a  great  big  fine  house," 
he  said,  his  eyes  on  the  coals  under  the  red  logs." 

345 


Pole    Baker 

"  I  say!"  she  sneered.  "  I've  been  afeard  some'n' 
mought  happen  to  drive  us  out  o'  this  'un.  Pole, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I've  been  worryin'." 

"You  say  you  have,  Sally?" 

"Yes,  I  worry  all  day,  an'  sometimes  I  wake  up 
in  the  night  an'  lie  unable  to  sleep  fer  thinkin'. 
I'm  bothered  about  the  debt  you  owe  Floyd  & 
Mayhew.  It's  drawin'  interest  an'  climbin'  higher 
an'  higher.  I  know  well  enough  that  Nelson 
wouldn't  push  us,  but,  Pole,  ef  he  was  to  happen  to 
die,  his  business  would  have  to  be  settled  up,  an'  they 
say  Mr.  Mayhew  hain't  one  speck  o'  mercy  on  pore 
folks.  When  it  was  reported  that  some'n'  had  hap 
pened  to  Nelson  a  while  back,  I  was  mighty  nigh 
out  o'  my  head  with  worry,  but  I  didn't  tell  you. 
Pole,  we've  got  to  git  free  o'  that  debt  by  some  hook 
or  crook." 

"I  think  we  kin  manage  it,"  Pole  said,  his  eyes 
kindling  with  a  subtle  glow. 

"That's  the  way  you  always  talk,"  Mrs.  Baker 
sighed;  "but  that  isn't  payin'  us  out." 

"It  comes  easy  to  some  folks  to  make  money," 
Pole  said,  with  seeming  irrelevance;  "an'  hard  to 
others.  Sally,  did  you  ever — have  you  ever  been  on 
Colonel  Price's  plantation?" 

"Many  and  many  a  time,  Pole,"  Mrs.  Baker  an 
swered,  with  a  reminiscent  glow  in  her  face.  "  When 
I  was  a  girl,  he  used  to  let  our  crowd  have  picnics  at 
his  big  spring,  just  below  the  house,  and  one  rainy 
day  he  invited  some  of  us  all  through  it.  It  was  the 
only  time  I  was  ever  in  as  fine  a  house  as  that  an' 
it  tuck  my  breath  away.  Me  'n'  Lillie  Turnbull 
slipped  into  the  big  parlor  by  ourselves  and  set  down 

346 


Pole    Baker 

an'  made  out  like  we  lived  thar  an'  was  entertainin' 
company.  She'd  rock  back  an'  forth  in  one  o'  the 
big  chairs  an'  pretend  she  was  a  fine  lady.  She  was 
a  great  mimic,  an'  she'd  call  out  like  thar  was 
servants  all  around,  an'  order  'em  to  fetch  'er  cool 
water  an'  fan  'er  an'  the  like.  Poor  Lillie!  the  last 
I  heard  of  her  she  was  beggin'  bread  fer  her  childern 
over  at  Gainesville  whar  Ned  was  killed  in  an'  ex 
plosion  at  the  cotton-mill  whar  he'd  finally  got  work. 

"I  jest  started  to  tell  you,"  Pole  said,  "that 
Nelson  Floyd  bought  that  plantation  to-day- 
bought  it  lock,  stock,  an'  barrel — house,  furniture, 
hosses,  implements — everythin'!" 

"  You  don't  say !' '  Mrs.  Baker  leaned  forward,  her 
eyes  wide  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  he  tuck  it  in  out  o'  the  wet  with  part  o'  the 
money  he  made  on  that  Atlanta  deal.  An'  do  you 
know,  Sally,  I  was  right  thar  in  the  back  end  o'  his 
store  an'  heard  'im  oontract  with  a  man  to  manage 
it  fer  'im.  The  feller  is  to  git  three  thousand  dollars 
a  year  in  cash  —  two  hundred  an'  fifty  dollars  a 
month,  mind  you,  an'  also  the  use  of  the  big  furnished 
house,  an'  as  much  land  fer  himself  as  he  needed, 
the  use  of  the  buggies  an'  carriage  an'  spring- wagon 
an'  barn — in  fact,  the  whole  blamed  lay-out.  He 
axed  me  about  hirin'  the  feller  an'  I  told  'im  the 
dern  skunk  wasn't  wuth  his  salt,  but  Nelson  would 
have  his  way.  He  engaged  'im  on  the  spot." 

"  Who  was  the  man,  Pole?"  there  was  just  a  shade 
of  heart-sick  envy  in  the  tired  countenance  of  the 
woman. 

"Oh,  it  was  a  feller  that  come  up  from  Atlanta 
about  three  days  ago,"  Pole  answered,  with  his 

347 


Pole    Baker 

usual  readiness.  "It  seems  that  him  an'  Nelson 
was  sorter  friends,  an'  had  had  dealin's  in  one  way 
an'  another  before." 

"Has  this — this  new  man  any  wife?"  Mrs.  Baker 
inquired,  as  a  further  evidence  of  secret  reflections. 

"Yes — a  fine  woman,  and  nice  childern,  Sally. 
He  seemed  to  be  the  only  scrub  in  the  bunch." 

Mrs.  Baker  sighed.  "  I  guess  he's  got  some'n'  in 
'im,"  she  said,  her  eyes  cast  down,  "  or  Nelson  Floyd, 
with  his  eye  for  business,  wouldn't  'a'  give  'im  a 
mansion  like  that  to  live  in  an'  all  them  wages.  He 
must  be  an  educated  man,  Pole." 

"No  he  ain't,"  Pole  smiled;  "he  barely  kin  read 
an'  write  an'  figure  a  little;  that's  all.  Sally,  the 
feller's  a-settin'  right  here  in  this  room  now.  I'm 
the  manager  o'  that  big  place,  Sally." 

She  laughed  as  if  to  humor  him,  and  then  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his.  "Pole,"  she  said,  in  a  cold, 
hard  voice,  "don't  joke  about  a  thing  like  that. 
Somehow  I  don't  believe  that  men  who  joke  about 
doin'  well,  as  es  ef  the  like  was  clean  out  o'  the'r 
reach,  ever  do  make  money;  it's  them  that  say  what 
one  kin  do  another  kin  that  make  the'r  way." 

"  But  I  wasn't  jokin',  little  woman."  Pole  caught 
her  hand  and  pressed  it.  "  As  God  is  my  judge,  I'm 
the  man,  an'  you'  an'  me  an'  the  childern  are  a-goin' 
to  move  into  that  fine  house  right  off." 

For  a  moment  she  stared  into  his  face  incredulous 
ly,  and  then  gradually  the  truth  dawned  upon  her. 

"Oh,  Pole,"  she  cried.  "I  can't  stand  it— it  will 
kill  me!"  and  with  a  great  sob  the  little  woman  burst 
into  tears.  He  tried  to  stop  her,  his  rough  hand  on 
her  frail,  thin  back,  but  her  emotion  swept  through 

348 


Pole    Baker 

her  like  a  storm.  Suddenly  she  raised  a  wet,  glow 
ing  face  to  his,  and,  with  her  sun-browned  hand 
pressed  tightly  on  her  breast,  she  cried:  "It  hurts; 
it  hurts  right  here  —  oh,  Pole,  I'm  afraid  it  will 
kill  me!" 

In  a  few  moments  she  was  calmer,  and  as  she  sat 
in  the  red  fire-light  all  aglow  with  her  new  happiness, 
she  was  a  revelation  to  him.  Not  for  years  had  he 
seen  her  look  that  way.  She  seemed  young  again. 
The  marks  of  sorrow,  poverty,  and  carking  fear  had 
dropped  from  her.  Her  eyes  had  the  glisten  of 
bedewed  youth,  her  voice  the  vibrant  ring  of  un 
quenchable  joy.  Suddenly  she  stood  up. 

"What  you  goin'  to  do?"  he  asked. 

"To  wake  the  childern  an'  tell  'em,"  she  said. 

"I  don't  believe  I  would,  Sally,"  he  protested. 

"But  I  am  —  I  am!"  she  insisted.  "Do  you 
reckon  I'm  goin'  to  let  them  pore  little  things  lie 
thar  an'  not  know  it — not  know  it  till  mornin'?" 

He  let  her  have  her  way,  and  walked  out  on  the 
little  porch  and  slowly  down  to  the  barn.  Sud 
denly  he  stretched  out  his  hands  and  held  them 
up  towards  the  stars,  and  took  a  deep,  reverent 
breath. 

"  I  wish  I'd  1'arnt  to  pray  when  I  was  a  boy,"  he 
said,  lowering  his  arms.  "  Somehow  I  feel  like  I've 
at  last  come  through.  I've  come  from  the  shadow 
of  the  Valley  of  Death  out  into  God's  eternal  light. 
Then  I'd  like  to  put  in  a  word  at  the  Throne  fer 
Nelson.  Ef  I  knowed  how  to  say  it,  I'd  beg  the 
Almighty  to  turn  Hillhouse  down.  Hillhouse  kin 
git  'im  another  one,  but  Nelson  never  kin — never  in 
this  world !  He  hain't  got  that  look  in  the  eyes.  He's 

349 


Pole    Baker 

got  a  case  o'  woman  as  bad  as  I  have,  an'  that's 
sayin'  a  lots." 

Pole  turned  and  slowly  retraced  his  steps.  Going 
in  and  sitting  down  by  the  fire  again,  he  heard  his 
wife's  voice  rising  and  falling  in  a  sweet  monotone. 
After  a  while  she  ceased  speaking  and  came  back 
to  the  fire. 

"  So  you  had  to  wake  'em,"  he  said,  tenderly,  very 
tenderly,  as  if  his  soul  had  melted  into  words. 

"I  tried,  Pole,  but  I  couldn't,"  she  made  answer. 
"  I  shuck  'em  an'  shuck  'em.  I  even  tuck  little 
Billy  up  an'  rolled  'im  over  an'  over,  but  he  was 
too  dead  tired  to  wake.  So  I  give  up." 

"But  I  heard  you  talkin',"  Pole  said,  wonder- 
ingly. 

"Yes,  I  had  to  talk  to  somebody,  Pole,  an' — well, 
I  was  a-tellin'  'em.  They  was  asleep,  but  I  was  a- 
tellin'  'em." 

She  sat  down  by  him.  "  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  close 
my  eyes  to-night,"  she  went  on,  softly;  "but  what 
does  it  matter?  I  reckon  thar  won't  be  no  sleepin' 
in  heaven,  an'  that's  whar  I  am  right  now,  Pole." 

She  put  the  side  of  her  flushed  face  down  on  his 
knee  and  looked  into  the  fire. 


*XLII 

following  evening  about  eight 
o'clock  Floyd  walked  over  to  Baker's 
house.  He  found  his  friend  seated 
alone  before  a  big  fire  of  red  logs. 

"Hello!  Come  in,  Nelson,"  Pole 
called  out,  cordially,  as  he  saw  the  young  man  through 
the  open  door-way.  "Come  in  an'  set  down." 

The  young  merchant  entered  and  took  a  vacant 
chair. 

"How's  your  wife,  Pole?"  he  asked. 

"Huh,  crazy,  crazy — crazy  as  a  bed-bug!"  Baker 
laughed.  "  You'd  think  so  ef  you  could  see  'er.  She 
spent  all  the  evenin'  at  yore  plantation,  an'  come 
home  beamin'  all  over  with  what  she's  seed  an'  her 
plans."  The  farmer  jerked  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder  towards  the  kitchen.  "She's  in  thar 
packin'  up  scraps  now.  She  knows  we  can't  leave 
till  day  after  to-morrow,  but  she  says  she  wants  to 
be  doin'  some'n'  towards  it,  even  ef  she  has  to  pack 
an'  unpack  an'  pack  again.  My  boy,  she's  the 
happiest  creature  God  ever — I  mean  that  you  ever 
made,  dern  you.  She  has  yore  name  on  'er  tongue 
every  minute  in  the  day.  You  know  she's  always 
said  she  had  as  many  childern  as  she  wanted" — 
Pole  laughed  impulsively — "but  she  says  now  she'd 
go  through  it  all  ag'in  ef  she  knowed  it  'ud  be  a  boy 
so  she  could  call  it  after  you." 


Pole    Baker 

"Well,  I  certainly  would  take  it  as  a  great  honor," 
Floyd  said.  "  Your  children  are  going  to  make  great 
men,  Pole.  They  show  it  in  their  heads  and  faces." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so,  Nelson. ' '  Pole  suddenly  bent  his 
head  to  listen.  "That's  Sally  talkin'  now,"  he  said, 
with  a  knowing  smile.  "  She  sometimes  talks  about 
all  this  to  'erse'f,  she's  so  full  of  it,  but  she  ain't 
talkin'  to  'erse'f  now.  You  kin  bet  yore  bottom 
dollar  she  ain't,  Nelson.  I  say  she  ain't  an'  I  mean 
it,  my  boy." 

"Some  one's  in  there,  then?"  said  Floyd. 

Pole  looked  steadily  into  the  fire,  not  a  muscle  of 
his  face  changed.  "Somebody  come  back  from 
Cartersville  this  mornin',"  he  said,  significantly. 

Floyd's  heart  gave  a  big  jump.  "  So  I  heard,"  he 
said,  under  his  breath. 

"Well,  she's  in  thar  now.  She'd  heard  we  was 
goin'  to  move  an'  come  over  jest  after  supper.  She 
was  plumb  happy  to  see  Sally  so  tickled.  I  didn't 
mean  to  eave'drop,  but  I  went  in  the  entry  jest  now 
to  hang  up  my  bridle  an'  couldn't  help  it.  It  was 
so  purty,  I  could  'a'  listened  all  day — Sally  puttin' 
on,  an'  tellin'  'er  she'd  send  the  carriage  over  fer  'er 
to  spend  the  day,  an'  that  Cynthia  must  be  shore 
an'  send  in  'er  cyard  at  the  door  so  thar  'ud  be  no 
mistake,  an'  so  on." 

Floyd  made  no  response.  He  was  studying  Pole's 
face,  digging  into  it  with  his  eyes  for  something  he 
felt  lay  just  beneath  the  unruffled  surface. 

"Then  I  heard  some'n'  else,"  Pole  said;  "an'  I'm 
goin'  to  feel  mean  about  totin'  it  to  you,  beca'se 
women  has  a  right  to  the'r  secrets,  an'  who  they  pick 
an'  choose  fer  the'r  life-mates  ort  to  be  a  sacred 

352 


Pole    Baker 

matter,  but  this  is  a  thing  I  think  you  have  a  right 
to  be  onto." 

"  What  is  that,  Pole  ?"  Floyd  seemed  to  be  hold 
ing  his  breath.  He  was  almost  pale  in  his  great 
suspense. 

"Why  I  heard  Cynthia  deny  up  an'  down  flat- 
footed  that  she  was  engaged  to  Hillhouse.  Lord, 
you  ort  to  'a'  heard  her  snort  when  Sally  told  'er 
it  had  been  the  general  belief  about  here  ever  since 
her  an'  him  went  off  to  Cartersville.  She  was  good 
mad.  I  know  that  fer  I  heard  Sally  tryin'  to 
pacify  'er.  I  heard  Cynthia  say  all  of  a  sudden: 
'My  mother  put  that  report  into  circulation.  I 
know  it  now,  and  she  had  no  right  to  do  it.' ' 

Floyd  breathed  more  freely,  a  gleam  of  hope  was 
in  his  eyes,  his  face  was  flushed.  He  said  nothing. 

Pole  suddenly  drew  his  feet  back  from  the  fire. 
"Don't  you  want  a  drink  o'  fresh  water,  Nelson?" 
he  asked. 

"No,  thank  you,"  Floyd  said. 

"Well,  I  do.  Keep  yore  seat.  Since  I  left  off 
whiskey  I'm  a  great  water-drinker." 

Pole  had  been  gone  only  a  minute  when  Floyd 
heard  light  steps  in  the  entry  leading  to  the 
kitchen.  He  sprang  up,  for  Cynthia  stood  in  the 
door-way. 

"Why — why,"  she  stammered,  "Mr.  Baker  told 
me  some  one  wanted  to  see  me.  I — I  had  no  idea 
that  you— 

"  I  want  to  see  you  bad  enough,  God  knows, 
Cynthia,"  Floyd  found  himself  saying,  "but  I  did 
not  tell  him  so.  That,  you  know,  would  not  be 
respecting  the  message  you  sent  me," 

353 


Pole    Baker 

"The  message?"  she  said.  "I'm  sure  I  don't 
understand  you." 

"  I  mean  the  message  you  sent  me  by  your 
mother,"  Floyd  explained. 

"But  I  didn't  send  you  any  message,"  Cynthia 
said,  still  mystified,  as  she  stared  frankly  into  his 
eyes. 

"I  mean  the — the  night  I  came  for  you,"  Floyd 
pursued,  "the  night  I  was  so  presumptuous  as  to 
think  you'd  run  away  with  me." 

"Oh,  did  she — did  my  mother  tell  you — "  Cyn 
thia  was  beginning  to  understand.  "Did  she  say 
that  I—" 

"She  told  me  you  said  you  wanted  me  never  to 
bother  you  again." 

The  girl  lowered  her  head,  the  fire  lighted  up  her 
face  as  she  stood,  her  eyes  on  the  rough  floor.  She 
was  silent  a  moment  as  if  in  deep  thought,  then  she 
looked  into  his  eyes  again.  "  I  begin  to  see  it  all 
now,"  she  said.  "I  wondered  why  you — how  you 
could  have  treated  me  that  way  after — after  all 
you'd  said." 

"Cynthia,  what  do  you  mean?  Do,  do  tell  me!" 
He  leaned  closer  to  her — she  could  feel  his  quick, 
excited  breath.  "Surely  you  could  not  believe  I'd 
have  left  if  you  hadn't  wished  it.  Oh,  little  girl,  I 
have  been  the  most  miserable  man  alive  over  losing 
you.  I  know  I  am  unworthy  of  you — I  always  shall 
be  that — but  losing  you  has  nearly  killed  me.  Your 
mother  told  me  that  awful  night  that  you  not  only 
wanted  me  to  let  you  alone,  but  that  you  were 
going  to  marry  Hillhouse." 

Cynthia  gave  him  a  full,  frank  glance.  "  Nelson," 
354 


Pole    Baker 

she  said,  "my  mother  made  up  most  of  what  she 
told  you  that  night.  I  did  promise  not  to  run  away 
with  you — she  made  me  do  that.  You  have  no  idea 
what  she  resorted  to.  She  determined  to  thwart  us. 
She  made  me  believe  her  mind  was  wrong  and  that 
she  would  kill  herself  if  I  left." 

"  But  you  went  to  her  yourself,  dear,"  Floyd  said, 
still  in  the  dark,  "and  told  her  of  our  plans." 

"  No,  I  didn't,  Nelson.  She  overheard  our  talk 
the  week  before.  She  followed  me  out  to  the  grape- 
arbor  and  heard  every  word  of  it." 

"Oh,  I  see — I  see!"  exclaimed  Floyd;  "she  was  at 
the  bottom  of  it  all." 

"Yes,  her  mind  was  frightfully  upset.  She  came 
to  me  this  morning  and  cried  and  told  me  that  she 
had  heard  so  many  nice  things  about  you  of  late  that 
she  was  afraid  she  had  wronged  you.  She  thinks 
now  that  her  mind  was  really  unbalanced  that 
night.  I  believe  it  myself,  for  no  thoroughly  sane 
person  could  have  played  the  part  she  did.  She 
persuaded  herself  that  your  intentions  were  not  pure 
and  she  felt  justified  in  taking  any  step  to  save 
me." 

"Oh,  I  remember  now,"  said  Floyd.  "She  could 
easily  have  misunderstood  my  meaning  that  night, 
for  I  was  in  such  a  state  of  nervous  excitement 
that  I  did  not  go  into  details  as  to  my  plans. 
After  I  left  you  I  remembered,  too,  that  I  had  not 
offered  you  a  beautiful  ring  that  I'd  bought  for  you 
in  Atlanta.  It's  in  my  trunk  in  my  room.  Even 
after  I'd  lost  all  hope  of  ever  winning  you,  I  could 
not  bear  to  part  with  it." 

"  Oh,  Nelson,  did  you  get  me  a  ring?"  She  leaned 
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Pole    Baker 

towards  him  in  childlike  eagerness.  "What  kind  of 
one  was  it?" 

"The  prettiest,  whitest  diamond  I  could  buy  in 
Atlanta,"  Floyd  said,  almost  holding  his  breath  in 
suspense.  "  Oh,  Cynthia,  you  say  your  mother  kept 
you  from  meeting  me  that  night.  If  you  had  come 
what  would  have  been  your  decision?" 

Cynthia's  color  rose;  she  avoided  his  hungry  eyes 
as  she  looked  down  into  the  fire.  The  house  was 
very  still,  and  Pole  Baker's  voice  suddenly  rose  into 
audibility. 

"I  tell  you,  I've  jest  got  to  have  a  kiss,"  he  said, 
"and  I'm  goin'  to  have  it  right  this  minute!  Do 
you  reckon  I'm  goin'  to  stand  here  idle  an'  them 
two  in  thar — " 

"Pole,  Pole,  stop!  Let  me  alone — behave  yore- 
se'f!"  cried  Mrs.  Baker.  There  was  a  shuffling  of 
feet  then  all  was  quiet. 

Floyd  leaned  towards  Cynthia  till  his  lips  almost 
touched  her  pink  ear.  "  If  you  had  met  me  that 
night  what  would  have  been  my  fate?"  he  asked, 
tremblingly. 

Cynthia  hesitated  a  moment  longer,  then  she 
looked  straight  into  his  eyes  and  said,  simply:  "I 
was  ready  to  go  with  you,  Nelson.  I'd  thought  it 
all  over.  I  knew — I  knew  I'd  be  unhappy  without 
you.  Yes,  I  was  ready  to  go." 

"Thank  God!"  Floyd  cried,  taking  her  hands  and 
holding  them  tenderly.  "And  Hillhouse,  you  are 
not  engaged  to  him,  then?" 

"Oh  no.  He  was  very  persistent  at  Cartersville, 
but  I  refused  him  there  for  the  last  time.  There  is 
a  rich  old  maid  in  the  town  who  is  dead  in  love  with 

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Pole    Baker 

him  and  admires  his  preaching  extravagantly.  He 
showed  me  his  worst  side  when  I  gave  him  his  final 
answer.  He  told  me  she  had  money  and  would 
marry  him  and  that  he  was  going  to  propose  to  her. 
Do  you  think  I  could  have  lived  with  a  creature  like 
that,  after — after- 
She  went  no  further.  Floyd  drew  her  into  his 
arms.  Her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder,  his  eyes 
feasting  on  her  beautiful  flushed  face. 

"  After  what  ?"  he  said.     "  Say  it,  darling — say  it!" 

"After  knowing  you,"  she  said,  turning  her  face 

so  that  he  could  not  see  her  eyes.     "Nelson,  I  knew 

all  along  that  you  would  grow  to  be  the  good,  strong 

man  you  have  become." 

"You  made  me  all  I  am,"  he  said,  caressingly. 
"You  and  Pole  Baker.  Darling,  let's  go  tell  him." 

Floyd  walked  home  with  Cynthia  half  an  hour 
later  and  left  her  at  the  door.  She  went  into  her 
mother's  room,  and,  finding  the  old  woman  awake, 
she  told  her  of  the  engagement. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  room  save  that  of 
the  moonbeams  falling  through  the  windows.  Mrs. 
Porter  sat  up  in  her  bed.  For  a  moment  she  was 
silent,  and  Cynthia  wondered  what  she  would  say. 

"I'm  glad,  very  glad,"  Mrs.  Porter  said,  huskily. 
"  I  was  afraid  I'd  ruined  all  your  chances.  I  see 
my  mistake  now.  I  misjudged  him.  Cynthia,  I 
reckon  my  mind  was  really  upset.  I  took  a  wrong 
view  of  the  whole  thing,  and  now  " — the  old  woman's 
voice  broke — "  and  now  I  suppose  you  and  he  will 
always  hate  me." 

"  Oh,  mother,  don't  talk  that  way!"  Cynthia  sat 
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Pole    Baker 

down  on  the  bed,  put  her  arm  about  her  mother,  and 
kissed  her.  "  After  all,  it  was  for  the  best.  I  didn't 
want  to  marry  that  way — this  will  be  so  much  more 
satisfactory." 

"That's  certainly  true,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  slightly 
mollified.  "  I  was  wrong,  but,  in  the  long  run,  it  is 
better  as  it  is." 

The  next  morning  after  breakfast  Mrs.  Porter  told 
Nathan  the  news  as  he  stood  out  under  an  apple- 
tree  sharpening  a  wooden  tooth  for  his  big  triangular 
harrow. 

"I  knowed  she'd  yank  'im,"  he  chuckled.  "He 
certainly  was  the  king-fish  o'  these  matrimonial 
waters,  an'  with  all  the  fishin '-poles  along  the  bank, 
it  jest  tuck  Nathan  Porter's  clear-headed  daughter 
to  jerk  the  hook  into  his  gills.  But  you  mighty  nigh 
spiled  it  with  yore  everlastin'  suspicions  an'  the 
long-legged  galoot  that  you  kept  danglin'  'fore 
the'r  eyes." 


THE   END 


II II II  Illl  Ill  I II 

A     000  040  454     1 


